Bloody Revenge
by EternalOphelia
Summary: Ch 16. DrHr. The war has been over for years, Harry Potter is assumed dead, along with so many others. Though some people are harder to get rid of than others, as Draco finds out. Rated M for language, violence, sexual content, and vampirism. Enjoy! RR!
1. First Blood

Revenge

Revenge

Chapter 1: First Blood

She leaned back and sighed with satisfaction, a powerful grin stretched across her chalk-white features. Below her Draco moaned, arching his back to the best of his ability. Her smile softened and she kissed him lightly on the forehead.

"It…It's you…" he murmured hoarsely, the wounds in his neck still offering up blood. "How…did you…f-find me?"

"Shh," she whispered, pressing her fingers to his lips. He laid back and closed his eyes, the strangest sensation taking over his entire being. He was dying, he could feel it. And yet, somehow, it wasn't the worst thing he could think of happening to him. He was comforted almost. And he couldn't help but wonder why. Shouldn't revenge have been more painful? More fulfilling to her? "Here."

Something wet touched Draco's lips and his initial reaction was to drink, to take whatever it was she was giving him because maybe, just maybe, it would prolong his life long enough to find a healer. He was only blocks away from the former St. Mungo's (now an unnamed hospital run by Death Eaters for Voldemort supporters only), he was sure of it.

He tasted the metallic flavor before his brain could register and assess the situation. His eyes flew open and he clawed at her arm. He yanked and pulled and even kicked—and yet he was no match for her strength. From the last day he saw her, nearly five years ago, she had grown steadily stronger. He wondered how even magic could protect him from her.

"Bitch," he seethed into her wrist, the blood seeping down his face in tracks.

It was the last thing he remembered until morning.

* * *

He woke up and said, "Fuck!"

"Please watch your language," said a voice.

He looked up, unable to bring himself to look at whatever bound him, and his eyes fell upon the most unlikely person.

"P-Potter?"

Harry gave Draco the best I-will-kill-you-in-your-sleep smile, then turned his eyes back to whatever it was he was reading.

"How—"

"Don't worry about that now."

"Where is—?"

"Sleeping," Harry interrupted. "Which is what you need to do."

"I'm not doing a damn thing you—"

He was asleep before Harry set his wand back on the table beside him.

* * *

"But you gave the others a choice!"

Draco opened his eyes to the sound of raised voices. He recognized one of them, and the other he knew to be his captor.

"I gave them a choice because I had no use for them!" his captor yelled. He heard something slam.

"Please, I beg you, kill him!"

Draco's soul tensed. Now he knew that voice.

"And what makes you think I'd give _you_ any special treatment, Narcissa? You _murdered_ my father before my eyes. You're mine and you will shut up and do as I tell you!"

And then there was silence. And darkness.

* * *

Something soft touched his face. He sat up, very aware that he was no longer bound, and was struck with an agonizing hunger.

"I was afraid you might not wake," came her voice, the voice of his captor. "I may have gotten a bit carried away. You lost a great deal of blood."

"Where's my mother?" He didn't know why that was the first thing he said, but he knew he needed to know. He thought she'd been dead all this time.

"I'm here."

He turned his head, and there she was, draped in a red velvet evening gown, her blonde locks tied back from her face. She was smiling, albeit sadly, and he thought that he'd never seen her as beautiful until now; she never smiled in life.

"How long—?"

"Have I been here?" she asked, laughing painfully. "Four years, I think."

"Three years, eight months, and four days," the other woman groaned, rolling her eyes. "And not a minute goes by that I don't regret turning you, Narcissa. You've been absolutely useless to me."

"Then kill me!" his mother cried, barring her teeth.

"No," she said simply, giving a wave of her hand. "You might still be needed."

"How did you get away?" Draco blurted out.

Both women looked at him as if they'd forgotten his presence.

"From the vampires you mean?"

He nodded.

"I knew you were all looks and no brains," she laughed, shaking her head. "Did you think I would go into that war without studying all of my enemies? Vampires included. Honestly, Malfoy, use your sense. Vampires only have control over those they unwillingly bring over. Like your mum here," she said, gesturing to the older woman, who sneered and barred her fangs again. "I sacrificed myself to them and, once I was one of them, they couldn't stop me. I was gone the very next night."

"And me?"

She didn't answer, and instead came to sit in the chair beside the coffin he'd been lying in. Without a word, she leaned in, stretching her neck to him. He couldn't help but notice the pulsating vein beneath her flesh.

His hunger was satiated before he realized what he'd done.

"You're mine until I say otherwise, Malfoy," she said, dabbing her neck with a square of linen. "But I don't see myself forgiving your crimes any time in the next hundred centuries."

"Filthy—"

"Now, now Malfoy," she laughed. "I wouldn't say that. We do share blood now."

He didn't know why, but he felt compelled to be silent.

"Narcissa."

"Yes ma'am?"

"Go get Harry. He wanted to be informed the moment your son was finally awake."

"Of course."

* * *

The garden was bigger than the one he remembered from the Manor. How long had it even been since he'd seen his former home? Years, he thought. Certainly not since the middle of the war. So then maybe it wasn't that _her_ garden was bigger than his family's, but that his scope had been diminished over time. It made sense in a weird way, a way he couldn't begin to describe. Too many new senses were crowding his mind. For example, when he looked up into the night sky, he somehow knew the rough number of stars it held.

She stood at the edge of the garden, her arms crossed loosely over her chest, her eyes on some distant point Draco couldn't decipher. But she was watching him—or at least knew exactly where he was—he knew that much for sure. Because he could have told anyone her _exact_ location without so much as having his eyes open. If he were this powerful the first night, then how much more powerful would he become? Could he eventually get away from her?

"No, Malfoy, you can't."

She stepped away from the house and was in front of him within seconds. He tried to mask his astonishment, but knew it was impossible.

"You might become as powerful as I am, but remember I will always be ahead of you. And," she paused, making sure his eyes were on her, "even if you were ever more powerful than me, it would be useless. The laws of the blood that runs through your veins is governed by me, and me alone. You will _only_ be free when I allow it."

"I still don't understand," he murmured, looking away. He wanted nothing more than to strike her across the face.

"What don't you understand?" she laughed.

"Why would you want me around for that long? Even if it was to command my every move, it doesn't make sense." His voice steadily rose with each word spoken. "I'm the reason you're dead!" He was mere inches from her face, and yet she appeared as serene as the moment before.

"Listen good, Malfoy," she said, pressing her index finger into the flesh and bone beneath his chin. "I will _never_ tire of having control over you. You have ruined my life, I won't let you ruin my death as well." She took a step back and composed herself, making a useless gesture of smoothing down her dress-front. "Now let's go inside. I believe Harry just arrived."

Before he could stop himself, Draco lunged forward, his arms out in the classic predatory gesture. She was in his sights, he could almost feel his hands around her neck. And then the taste of dirt in his mouth.

He rolled over, coughing, and spit out the dirt and grass.

"Please don't try that again," she sighed, shaking her head in disappointment. "You're only making things more difficult for yourself. And while I would _love_ to see you suffer, I don't have time for games tonight. Now get up before I summon Harry out here."

* * *

In all his times at war, Draco had never truly felt danger. After surviving his great folly with Dumbledore in his sixth year, he had become quite the loyal military man. He even became the first person his age to have a real ranking position of power with the Death Eaters. And so, from then on, he was always safe, always had someone to watch his back.

Tonight, however, he felt himself digress to his sixteen-year-old self. And no matter how useless it would be, he still wished he had his wand clutched protectively at his side.

Somehow this was worse than being invisibly bound in a coffin.

"I hear you've been disrespecting to your superior," Harry said, unable to hide his smirk. Draco had to consciously hold himself back.

"Forgive me," he said through gritted teeth. "The adjustment to the undead isn't exactly easy."

"Nor is it supposed to be."

Draco found it more than a little difficult not to glare. He was Harry Potter for Merlin's sake! His life-long enemy. Hell! He wasn't even supposed to be alive! The was had ended over three years ago with what Draco and everyone _assumed_ was Harry's death.

"Tell him how you survived," came her voice; it would be an understatement to say she was annoyed. He didn't bother to look at her. _Some_ things were still within his control. "I've had enough rebellion for one evening. Let's keep this calm tonight."

Harry nodded and began his tale.

* * *

Ok. That's the end of chapter one! I'm really liking this story so far, but I still need to tend to my others, which I am doing, just not as quickly as I should. School and everything else in my life has been so hectic this year that I haven't even been able to read fanfiction, let alone write it. Please bear with my slowness.

Anyway, let me know what you all think of this. I've been working on it on and off all semester and I finally put the pieces together. I've had a little free-time lately and have decided to get back into writing as much as I was over the summer.

REVIEW!!


	2. Rules and Regulations

Recap:

"Tell him how you survived," came her voice; it would be an understatement to say she was annoyed. He didn't bother to look at her. _Some_ things were still within his control. "I've had enough rebellion for one evening. Let's keep this calm tonight."

Harry nodded and began his tale.

* * *

Chapter 2: Rules and Regulations

"Technically, I_didn't _survive the Final Battle. And trust me when I tell you there is absolutely no way for you to get this information to Voldemort. Your dear mother has failed miserably hundreds of times.

"Anyway, as I said, I did not survive. But I didn't die either. I'm stuck in a sort of limbo. Something in the curses we used that day opened up a different realm, which I unfortunately fell into. I'm almost a ghost, but not really. I still need to eat and sleep and breathe. Only no other living person in your realm can see or hear me. Unless, of course, you're on a different plain of awareness, such as you vampires.

"Don't sneer when I call you a vampire, Malfoy. It's certainly not the worst thing that's going to happen to you. I can assure you of that.

"Now, getting back to my story.

"I don't know how long it took me to realize—because I continued to throw curses at Voldemort, who appeared to have given up—but somehow I suddenly knew. Maybe it was when people started to leave the battlefield. I can't be sure. It wasn't so clear or black and white.

"But even when I figured it out, there wasn't much for me to do except wander and become disappointed when someone would occasionally cross my path.

"You see, I secluded myself from the world that couldn't see me. I was too bitter for my own good.

"It wasn't for an entire year that I finally came across someone who could see me. And she must have been very powerful even then, because she recognized me immediately—and even I couldn't have picked myself out of a line-up. A year in the absolute wilderness changed me in more ways than I could have imagined. Some not so bad, I have to admit.

"So, naturally, I was shocked when I was seen. But not nearly as much as when I realized who it was who recognized me. I thought she'd been dead for almost two years. Well, gone. She wasn't exactly dead. Not the way so many others from the war were.

"'I thought you were dead,' we both said at once. And then I think we laughed, because we hadn't seen each other in too long.

"I _said_ don't sneer, Malfoy!

"Anyway, it took us several hours, once she brought me here, for our stories to be told. And it took me weeks after that to accept the fact that someone I loved was a vampire and there was nothing I could do to save her. _I_ might still have a chance if I figure out how to break the realms again. But a vampire, well…not even Merlin could undo such a thing.

"It didn't take her long to reveal what she'd been doing all this time. The plans she'd worked out, the Death Eaters she'd either killed or turned, those few still alive she'd contacted and told her secret to. And then she introduced me to your mother.

"She was unbelievably resilient, Malfoy. I'll give her that. Even under the curse of the vampire's blood, she was able to keep us from finding you until now. We're still unsure how, but we suspect maternal love. Though that sort of magic could only protect a person for so long. Fourteen years for me; five for you. And I'm surprised the magic was powerful enough to last five years. I suppose I never expected a Death Eater to have such feelings.

"Don't scoff at her, Malfoy. She protected you as long as she possibly could.

"We also found—along with you—several dozen of your Death Eater friends last night. Perhaps I should let Hermione tell you what became of them."

* * *

Draco felt nothing by the time he was led from the room to "feed". His mother—forcefully obedient—was instructed to take him out. It almost made him laugh. Take him out? As if they were simply going to a nice restaurant for Mother's Day.

They walked down the quiet country road (for Hermione preferred the seclusion) towards the city in silence. Draco wouldn't have spoken had he known what to say. He didn't particularly blame her for his fate, but at the same time it was her teachings that brought him to Voldemort. Of course his father played a role as well, but he wasn't alive to give the silent treatment to.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Narcissa said. "And I'm sorry I failed you."

Draco squared his shoulders and walked a pace faster. When would he learn to read minds like the others? And when could he go out and feed alone? He loathed being babysat. Snape always tread his heals, and now his mother?

"Try not to—"

"Try not to piss me off," Draco spat, not bothering to look at her. "It's bad enough I have to endure this for an eternity thanks to you and my upbringing. Don't make it worse."

* * *

The silence grew deeper and denser before, finally, the dull throb of voices could be heard at a distance. Draco didn't need to be told that in about one more mile they would reach the small city Hermione had chosen to take up residence outside of. Instinctively he licked his lips, the smell of human blood growing stronger with each step. His pace quickened without his command. He was almost a full block ahead of Narcissa when she called out to him.

"You must learn to walk before you run," she said. And then she was beside him, her hand on his elbow. "Unfortunately," she sighed, "Hermione has strict rules regarding who and where and when we feed."

"What do you mean?" He almost couldn't concentrate on his mother's words, the scent of blood consuming his every desire. Had he ever wanted something more? Had he ever been so hungry?

"Stop for a moment and allow me to explain before we reach the city." Reluctantly Draco slowed his pace, then sat beside his mother on a low brick wall along a paved sidewalk, a further clue that they were nearly there. "First, we are only allowed to hunt those who have done wrong: murderers, rapists, anyone with evil in their heart."

"And how the hell are we supposed to know who has done wrong?" Draco sneered. Leave it to a muggle-loving mudblood to come up with such ridiculous rules.

"You will know," she said. "Trust me."

"And if I kill an innocent?"

Narcissa frowned and looked at her shoes.

"She will know," was her answer. "And you won't be able to feed for as long as she says. Once…once I killed a woman and her young son, and when I returned home Hermione bound me in a tight, rotting coffin and left me in the basement for twelve days and nights. By the time I was able to hunt again, I was so weak I could barely move. For two nights Hermione hunted for me, bringing barely living prey to my coffin-prison for me to feed on…It was unbearable…and humiliating."

Draco groaned loudly, but nodded nonetheless. The last thing he wanted was to be further indebted to and humiliated by Hermione Granger. When he captured her and gave her over to the vampires all those years ago, he thought it was the last time he'd have to see her, have to put up with her 'do-gooder ways'. He wished he'd paid more attention to his vampire texts but, alas, he'd had 'more important' things to worry about, namely his task for the Dark Lord.

"Second," Narcissa said, bringing Draco back to the matter at hand, "we are only allowed to feed every other night." Draco's eyes widened and he stared almost accusingly at his mother. "I know you feel you hunger is too great to be satisfied that way but, trust me, after the first week of feeding your hunger will lessen. Fortunately for you, it's your first week and you are allowed to hunt every night for eight nights."

"Allowed?" he scoffed, rolling his eyes. "This is pathetic mother. How can you live with yourself under this filth's commands?"

"I have to," she sighed. "Trust me, Draco, if I could I would leave her in an instant, do as I wished with my eternity. But, as she so arrogantly pointed out, we are bound to her until she decides otherwise. If you disobey her, she has the strength and will to punish you as she wishes. But, being that you're bound by blood, disobedience does not occur as often as you might think. Your body and mind will force you to conform to her demands, as I'm sure you've noticed already."

Draco's mind focused on when he first awoke, when he first knew his fate, and the 'urge' he had to be silent when Hermione commanded it of him. Involuntarily, he let out a soft hiss of anger.

"But you were able to protect me! Surely there's a way past her!"

Narcissa laughed sadly, taking her son's hand in hers.

"It was as Harry said, Draco. 'Maternal love'. Strong magic, but not strong enough. I have tried and failed innumerable times to break free and always I end up back in that house, doing what she commands. My only solace now is knowing that I have you here with me, that I am able to protect you again to some extent."

"What are you talking about?" he snapped. "You failed at protecting me, or don't you remember? The spell is broken. We're both fucked."

"I can still protect you in a way," she said, and let go of his hand. "I can do what she demands of you. I can take your place, keep you from harm."

Draco couldn't have spoken had he known what to say. Why was he being so bitter to her? She'd tried to save him! It wasn't her fault she'd failed; it was that retched mudblood's fault, and Harry Potter's stupid ghost. If he was going to have to endure eternity under the command of Hermione Granger, then he was lucky his mother was there with him. Against his personality, he reached over and took his mother's hand again, letting her know he appreciated what she'd done and tried to do. He didn't need to look up to know she was smiling.

"And where?" he asked, wanting to hear the rest of his restrictions, so not to end up starved in a coffin for nearly two weeks.

"This small city, though possessing its fair share of evil men, is not allowed to be hunted for long periods of time. Hermione wishes to keep the city always with a supply of prey, and therefore only when she says so are we to feed here."

"And tonight?"

"Tonight we are allowed, as well as for the first eight nights you can feed straight."

"And after that? Where are we supposed to go? I'm no expert at geography, but the next big city is too far away for us to travel there and back every two nights."

"Did you assume you lost _all_ magical abilities when you died?"

Draco arched his eyebrow at his mother.

"Vampires who were once witches or wizards still retain _some_ abilities they had in life. Very few, I'm afraid, but enough for convenience-sake."

"And those would be?"

"You can still Apparate, my son," she laughed, giddy with delivering the 'good news' to him. "Granted it's only to places we are allowed to go, but it's more than sufficient for feeding."

"What else can we still do?"

"Well," she said, pulling him to stand, having noticed the paler-than-usual shade of his skin. He needed to feed soon. "I'm not sure exactly. I've only discovered a few myself, but some I have that others don't. I think it varies from person to person, though Apparition seems to be standard to everyone. Now, before you do something silly like faint, we need to get some blood in you."

Draco's nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed, the prospect of feeding causing his blood to pound through his ears.

"Come now. I know the best place to eat in town."

* * *

Chapter 2! All done! Oh yeah, uh huh! Haha. I'm thoroughly enjoying this story, as you can tell. Now, as for my vampires, some might have noticed that they are very similar to Anne Rice vampires. This was not a mistake. They are the only reputable vampires, and therefore I modeled them after hers. Obviously they're not exactly the same, I just took a few aspects and incorporated them into my version of vampires in the Harry Potter world.

Anyway, let me know what you all think! Do I have a good story here? Or should I scrap it now?

REVIEW!!! Without reviews I won't know whether to continue or not. Lack of reviews tells me _not_ to write, and so REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW!

P.S. I know I posted chapter 1 and 2 at the same time. This is because I had them both written and wanted to post them as I made them. The 3rd chapter and all others will most likely be posted individually and further apart, by weeks. I am, after all, very busy. Please keep that in mind. And hound me if I'm too slow. Please! That does help motivate me 


	3. The Contract

Recap:

Draco's nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed, the prospect of feeding causing his blood to pound through his ears.

"Come now. I know the best place to eat in town."

* * *

Chapter 3: The Contract

Draco lay on the grass in the back garden, his arms a pillow behind his head, his eyes closed. It was the first time since his arrival to Hermione's hand-crafted hell that he was alone, actually alone. Hermione and Harry were inside and, though he couldn't hear them, he knew they were discussing him at length, so was the sensation coursing through the air. His mother was elsewhere, having been sent out by Hermione to bring someone back.

Feeding in the small city, though Draco hated to admit it, was exhilarating. Of course he would take everything back and change the course of time if he could to not be a vampire, but as fates went this was not _the worst_ that could have befallen him. He could still taste the rapist's blood on his tongue, still feel his pulse quicken, then fade as the last dregs of life were drained from him. He reasoned that a rapist was probably the best meal he could consume, for while murderers were seemingly just as evil, rapists left living victims behind, victims who had to continue on with life in shame and fear. Therefore they were possibly the most evil of all, and much better tasting for that fact.

Sighing loudly, Draco's thoughts drifted back to a few hours earlier, when he learned the fate of his fellow Death Eaters. He chuckled softly, miserably; he truly was a "death-eater" now.

"_When I came upon you and the others I couldn't believe my luck," Hermione said, leaning closer to Draco so that she was certain he heard every word. "Not only was I going to exact my revenge on you, I was going to exact it on a whole slew of Death Eaters who are responsible for so many deaths." She paused slightly and sat back again, deciding that being this close to him was not to her liking. Even feeding on him had been horrible, for although he was technically evil and therefore should have been savory, she found his blood too brassy. There was something else that troubled her about it too, though she still couldn't quite figure it out. Either way, she was glad to never have to taste such blood again. "I killed most of them immediately, feeding on none. It would have taken too long and, to be honest, I wasn't all that hungry…The ones I didn't kill, like you, I forced into semi-consciousness. You might remember feeling lightheaded and as though you were perhaps dreaming, while at the same time you were aware that you were awake and in danger."_

_Against his will, Draco nodded. Hermione smiled, then continued._

"_Anyway, those who I kept alive I gave a choice, die now or become my servant. Can you guess what they chose?"_

_Draco tightened his neck muscles, but again found himself nodding, as if being pulled by invisible strings. Was this how the rest of his existence was going to be? This was worse than being a puppet to Voldemort! At least then disobedience could be achieved if one were so inclined._

"_All dead," she sighed, as if it were a shame she didn't have more minions to boss around. "I'm not sure that you even know this part, though," she continued, her smile broadening. When had Hermione Granger, lover of all things, become so evil? "I'll answer _that_ question first, since you insist on straying your thoughts from my story. I 'became evil', as you call it, the moment I offered myself to those filthy vampires in exchange for revenge against you, Malfoy. What a coward you've been, your entire life, giving me to them instead of finishing me off yourself. And look what it's gotten for you! Nothing! Nothing but an eternity of servitude to a master you despise for no other reason than I was born from a muggle. If you learn nothing else from your time with me, Malfoy, then you will learn just how wrong you have been your entire life. I will prove this to you, gladly, and you will suffer a million times over, knowing that everything in your life was your own choice, that you arrived at this fate because of your own greed and cowardice. So, please, forgive me if I am slightly bitter at being feed to a pack of vampires before I'd reached adulthood. Silly of me really, to ponder over something like that, huh?"_

"_Granger, I—"_

"_Oh, I know you didn't want to hear it at length, that it was only a thought, but better to get things cleared up at the beginning, don't you think? Trust me, Malfoy, this is only a fraction of the suffering you will endure. Enjoy the relative peace while you can, because, in time, even your own thoughts will betray you and then you will be absolutely and irreversibly alone." She turned to Narcissa and something between them was exchanged, though Draco couldn't be sure what since he hadn't learned to hone his mind skills yet. He would though, that was for damn sure. If he was doomed to endure this, then he was going to make it as bearable as possible._

"_I'll be back soon," Narcissa said, then bowed slightly at the waist and left the room, and presumably the house._

"_Now, as I was saying, Malfoy, I don't believe you knew exactly who you were with when I found you. I mean, of course you knew who you were sent out with, how could you not? But there was one other person trailing you, one other person who begged for death rather than a living death with you and your mother."_

_Draco didn't need to ask to know who she was talking about._

"_It was pathetic really, the way your father cried to be killed. You Malfoys are nothing but a family of failures and weaklings."_

Draco sat up with a start, his fists clenching at his sides. If it took him a hundred thousand years he was going to make Hermione pay for the mockery she'd made of him and his prestigious family. He would master his mind skills, master every other skill available to him and then, when he and his mother were out feeding one night, he would tell her his plan and together they would kill her for good. There was only one small problem.

"How do you kill a ghost?"

* * *

Anticipating her appearance, Draco was already standing when his mother came outside to retrieve him. There were only two hours at most left before daylight and so if Hermione had any business to attend to then it was going to have to be now. Narcissa walked solemnly behind him, her head down, her steps slow and even. It wasn't until they were on the porch that he realized she was upset at the reason for Hermione's meeting and the guest whom she'd brought back with her.

"What it is?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

"Nevermind that," Hermione said, nearly startling him. She grabbed Draco by the elbow and led him into the living room. Harry sat in what Draco assumed was his usual chair by the fireplace, a small table with a stack of books and parchment beside him. Sitting on the sofa where Hermione took her seat as well was quite possibly the most beautiful woman Draco had ever seen in life and death. Her high cheek bones and deep black curly hair extenuated her bronze skin. Judging by her appearance and the simple robes she wore, he assumed she was from the Middle East somewhere. Either way, he was glad to be in the same room as her. "Stop that," Hermione demanded, slapping the table in front of her to gain Draco's attention.

He looked at her, blinking, and realized he'd been staring.

"Sauda is a good friend of mine," she said, gesturing at the Eastern beauty. "I met her shortly after I came over, wanting to travel the continent in search of others like myself, those who have been changed but still remain...human. Unlike those savages you fed me to, Draco."

"I have heard a lot about you," Sauda said, and Draco wondered if he'd ever heard a more beautiful voice.

"Would you stop drooling over her?" Hermione snapped. "I thought you were well-bred, Malfoy. Besides, in life, she was a muggle."

Draco's heart bottomed out and he slunk back in his chair, disgusted. Hermione smiled to herself, satisfied.

"Now, for the matter at hand. Sauda here has been one of us for…oh, how long again, dear?"

"Eighty-seven years." Draco's eyes widened, but he said nothing. "We do not age," she said, guessing at his reason for astonishment. "I was sixteen when it happened, and have been growing stronger ever since."

"As I was saying," Hermione continued, "Sauda has gone through numerous aids in her lifetime, all of whom I believe were mortal muggles. Is that right?"

"Yes, and it's dreadfully irritating, having to move so often. Every ten years, because otherwise those in town begin to notice my lack of aging. And if moving isn't bad enough, I have to attain a new assistant every time I leave a city or country. It's all very tedious and I'd rather not have to deal with it anymore."

"What are you saying?" Draco asked, his voice unintentionally fierce.

"My he's bold for a novitas," Sauda simpered, holding a napkin to her lips, a gesture no one made anymore whilst laughing, further proving her age. "It's our term for 'new vampire'," she offered, noticing his confusion. "Hermione herself is still a novitas, yet, with the meals she's taken, her strength suggests she is a vetus like myself."

Draco's ears perked at this, but he forced himself to make no outward reaction to her words. So Hermione had gained her strength through means other than age? And if she could do it, then surely he could. He only had to figure out how.

"Malfoy," Hermione said, turning his attention back to the conversation. "You are only here as a formality, so I suggest you listen." He turned to his mother, who nodded, her eyes glistening pink. "Your mother requested your presence at this meeting, and I saw fit to grant it, seeing as—although she's been a foolish woman—she has nonetheless been as faithful to me as can be expected." Draco listened intently, the Hermione he once knew showing through this new Hermione's rough exterior. "Also, she is a mother, and as such I feel her request is…usual."

Draco had no clue what they were talking about, though some things were beginning to become clearer. For starters, Hermione's transformation into the cold-hearted vengeful vampire was not abrupt, but took years. That, and she had a teacher in Sauda, a woman who knew the world and the underworld, so to speak, better than Hermione could on her own. And then there was also the mention of 'meals she'd taken' which evidently made her stronger. Who did she feed on to gain such strength in such a short amount of time? How could she nearly match Sauda's strength? A handful of years compared to eighty-seven was a considerable gap, one only crossed with determination and knowledge. He had been so wrong to underestimate her.

"Sauda is here for one reason, Malfoy," Hermione said, gesturing to Harry, who Draco only just now remembered was there. Harry reached into his robe front and produced a rolled up piece of parchment. Leaning forward, he handed the document to Sauda. Using an ancient-looking quill, Sauda scrawled her signature on the bottom of what appeared to be a contract, though its slight gleam in the fire-light showed that it was a magically-reinforced contract. After signing her name, she pushed the parchment towards Hermione, who signed it as well. "Your mother's presence in this house, as it has come to my attention, is quite dangerous for me. Plainly, with her around the two of you are more than likely to band together and plot against me, therefore I am taking the necessary precautions to prevent that."

Subconsciously, his hands curled into fists around the arms of the chair he was sitting in.

"And no, I didn't gather this information from your silly thoughts a moment ago while you were outside. Harry and I have been discussing it since you came here and Sauda has thankfully agreed to take your mother into custody as her…maid, of sorts."

"And how will she be able to control my mother?" Draco sneered, smirking.

"Oh," Hermione laughed. "That's simple."

Draco's smirk dropped and his fists unclenched.

"Narcissa," she said, holding the contract up under his mother's chin. "All that's left is your…signature." Dropping her eyes, she bore her teeth for a moment, then plunged her fangs into her bottom lip with sufficient force to tear the skin. Then, squeezing her lips tightly together, she let several drops of fresh blood fall onto the parchment, which cracked and smoked for an instant. The droplets of blood turned black a second later and gave the document an overall grayish tinge. Satisfied, Hermione rolled the parchment up again and tossed it to Harry, who put it back in his robes.

"What does _that_ mean?" Draco asked. He had never seen such a ritual before. And though he didn't doubt its effectiveness, he was certainly intrigued.

"It's a careful mixture of wizarding magic and vampire magic. The contract and your mother's blood contribution bind her to Sauda now. Though, as it states in writing, she must also obey me as well, seeing as I am her nox noctis mater matris."

"Mother of the night," Draco whispered, having deciphered the old Latin words. It wasn't exact, but it was logical enough that he gathered the meaning, which meant Hermione was his nox noctis mater matris as well. This caused him to cringe outwardly, which Harry scoffed at, but otherwise no one seemed to give it notice.

"Listen to me, Malfoy. Overthrowing me is not going to be an easy task, so if you intend to continue on with it, then I suggest you commit yourself to it fully, because otherwise you will fail miserably, the way you have been failing your entire life."

* * *

The very next night Hermione took Draco out to feed. When he awoke an hour before the house was empty, save the two of them, something which had not been so since his arrival. He wondered briefly where Harry was, but didn't ponder it for more than an instant. He would rather not have witnesses to his humiliation.

"Are my mother and I the only ones?" he asked after they'd been walking in silence for some time, the city a good half an hour away still.

"That I've turned?" she asked, not looking at him. "No. But the others were turned willingly, and so they chose to live elsewhere. Don't worry, you will meet them eventually. Our kind tend to cross each other's paths frequently, so not to go mad."

"What of your parents? And Weasley and his sister?"

Hermione arched her eyebrow at these questions and this time she did turn her head at him.

"How are my family and friends any of your concern, Malfoy? Trust me when I tell you that whoever I have left in this world that know about me are safe and you shall never find them if you choose to look."

"It just seems odd," he said, looking at her. If he was going to learn anything, then he was going to have to start asking questions, start getting on Hermione's good side. Otherwise he would end up a common slave, like his mother. "You're in that huge house all alone, with only my mother to keep you company. I know it's only been a few days, but I haven't even caught a suggestion of others. It doesn't appear as though you have many visitors, other than Potter, who doesn't seem to enjoy being there as much as I do."

"I don't allow many visitors," she answered, surprising him. He thought for sure she would brush him off and demand he stay out of her business. "Rarely someone will show up unannounced, but not in a long time, since I have made it very clear that I don't wish for them to be there."

"Why?"

"Why all the questions, Malfoy?"

"If I have to spend eternity with you, then I might as well learn something about you. I'd get rather bored rather quickly otherwise."

"Well I'm not here for your entertainment, so I think that's enough questions for tonight."

They continued on in silence the rest of the way until reaching the city. Upon arrival, Hermione startled him by taking his hand and pulling him along, as if they were a couple late for a movie.

"What are you doing, Granger?"

"Surely your mother taught you to blend in on your excursion last night," she sighed, shuffling between oncoming pedestrians on the sidewalk as if she were a wisp of smoke. "Act as though you and I are supposed to be together, and no one will give us a second glance, probably not even a first. If you sense someone before I do, let me know."

They bustled through the crowd for almost fifteen minutes, until suddenly Draco's heart began to race, his eyes falling on an innocent-looking woman who sat outside a café, her naïve and harmless boyfriend chatting with her idly. As they drew closer, Draco's impression of her grew worse and worse, his mind bombarded with images of her crimes and the lack of guilt she possessed regarding them. She was gorgeous, no doubt how she got away with so many murders, and rich, the product of her crimes.

"Granger," he mumbled, gesturing at the woman. Hermione smiled, guiding him towards the couple to take a seat at the outdoor café, only two tables away from them.

"You're a natural," she commented, her eyes focused on the woman. "Not that I'm surprised. Your mother was too. Being born evil seems to have some advantages."

Draco ignored her remark, stiffening when a waitress came over to take their order. What was he supposed to do? He didn't want nor need any food or drink. Fluidly Hermione ordered the rarest meat on the menu and 'tea as hot as it comes'. Not at all surprised, the waitress took the order and promised to be back in less than ten minutes.

"What was that about?"

"Well we can't very well sit here and not buy anything," she said matter-of-factly. "Besides, I 'eat' here often, the staff knows my preferences and they think nothing of it. She truly is a find, Malfoy," she commented, meaning the rich murderess behind him. "Rich and beautiful and evil. She's perfect."

"Is that how you make your money?" he asked, curling his nose at her crudeness. "You _steal_ from these people?"

"What's a corpse going to do with money?" she countered, rolling her eyes as if he were being silly. "I advised your mother to not teach you this last night, due to the fact that I would be doing it tonight. No need to overload you and make you useless."

"Whose is she?" he asked, having suddenly realized that only one could have her. "I spotted—"

"Oh she's definitely yours. I avoid feeding on women as much as possible. I don't like how they taste, too sweet," she laughed, as if it were a joke. "I plan to have my meal as soon as I find the perfect one. Ah!" she sighed, catching the sight of a broad-shouldered older man in a dirty t-shirt and ripped jeans. "Well he's very cliché, but suitable." And then she simply stood and approached the man, going so far as to slip her arm around his waist. Draco watched, intrigued, as she spoke softly to him, appealing to his vices, and lead him down the street and out of sight. Not three minutes later and she was back, her cheeks flushed pink and her lips plump and wet. "As soon as yours gets up, go for it."

Draco nodded appropriately, but otherwise he was stewing. This was just plain ridiculous! The son of Lucius Malfoy sitting at a café and taking orders from a mudblood? He was glad that his father was dead, for at least he didn't have to witness what a mess his only child's life had become. And she was enjoying every minute of his discomfort! Not that he blamed her, for revenge had a way of satiating a person like nothing else in this world. Watching his "master", he took note. He was certainly going to enjoy his revenge far less modestly than she was.

He was so caught up in his thoughts, that he almost didn't hear his prey get up to leave. Kissing her boyfriend on the cheek, they said their good-byes and parted ways. Luckily, she came in his direction, and he wasted no time. Making sure to catch her eye, he smiled, showing off his gleaming pearl-esque teeth. She noticed him immediately and smiled back, even going so far as to glance over her shoulder at him. He waited a fraction of a second after she disappeared around the corner, then calmly stood and pursued her, giving her plenty of time to gain distance.

"Won't your wife get jealous?" the woman asked, sensing Draco behind her. She was arrogant too, a feature making her far more desirable to him.

"She's not my wife," he answered, taking her arm and pulling her under the awning of a closed shop, where they were slightly covered in shadow.

"Your girlfriend, then."

"She's my…sister," he said, deciding that it was the best way to explain the unexplainable. "Well, my sister-in-law."

"What's your name stranger?"

"Oh, that's not necessary," he said, smiling down at her. Before she had a chance to ponder his words, his fangs pierced the taught flesh of her neck, and a moment later she was limp in his arms. Setting her carefully on the stoop, he propped her against the shop's door, then proceeded to go through her pockets and bag and collect anything of value, a task he revolted, but did so to not get any heat from Hermione. He returned to their table just in time for their "meal" to arrive. Hermione slipped a few crisp bills under her saucer, dumped the food and tea in a plant beside the table, then stood to leave.

"She wasn't such a bright woman after all," Hermione said, counting the money as they walked back to the house. "Carrying this much money on her and all."

Draco said nothing, blocking her out as best as he could, and instead focused his entire being on the fresh blood coursing through his veins. He couldn't deny it, he loved the way it felt.

* * *

"I can't stand this anymore!" Hermione cried, burying her face in Harry's chest. "How long have I been like this? Harry, please, you have to help me. I can't do it alone."

"Hermione," he sighed, stroking her back. "We've gone over this a thousand times. I am _not_ going to help you end your life. How could I?"

"Look, I thought I could do it, I thought I could get revenge and be happy, but I can't! I'm as miserable as I was the day it happened! You're the only thing keeping me going, but other than that all my thoughts are of the sun and peace."

"Please don't talk like that." He held her at arms-length, looking into her eyes. "You could always have Ron and Ginny back over. She told me she misses you terribly, and I suspect the same with him. And your mother sends you letters constantly, which you refuse to answer. So many people love and miss you, Hermione. Why won't you let them come see you?"

"Because I'm a bloody vampire, Harry!" she snapped, shoving him away. "How many times do I have to tell you! I _can't_ see them. I can barely stand you being here and you know that. I love you Harry, I really do. You're my best friend and nothing can change that, not even death evidently," she laughed sadly. "But I can feel your unease too. You don't want to be here, you don't want to see me like this, resorting to murder to survive. I should move to Greece with Sauda like we've been talking about for years. At least then I'll be around—"

"Your own kind?" Harry asked, looking sad and dejected. "I understand how difficult this is for you, I really do. How do you think it feels to be married to a woman who can't see you? We have to communicate through notes and spells. I can't even _kiss_ my own wife, but I'm not trying to off myself. And I know I seem uneasy when I'm here, but you can't blame me or yourself for that. Who wants to see their best friend become a vampire? But don't take that to mean I don't want to be here, because, believe me, it's sometimes better than being home. At least here I can communicate normally with someone. I know it's hard, I know you can't stand it, and that you worry about the future, but trust me when I tell you that if you continue to shut everyone out you'll regret it forever. I know it's hard to hear, but someday we're going to be gone and when the time comes I would hate for you to regret anything on account of your stubbornness."

"I know," she sighed and allowed him to embrace her once again. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," he said and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Now about some visitors? It's Ginny's birthday next month and I know she would want nothing more than to see you."

"I'll think about it."

" 'Mione," he scolded, looking sideways at her.

"I will, I swear!"

"Ok, good. Now I have to go. Ginny can't stand it when I'm late for dinner. Says I make a bad impression on little Albus. Oh, speaking of which, I think he saw me the other night," he said excitedly as he slipped on his cloak. "He looked right at me."

"Harry, that's wonderful." She smiled warmly, hiding her constant inner pain. "Now go. Go home to your family."

The instant he was out the door she collapsed on the couch and cried until she was exhausted.

* * *

Chapter 3! Yes! I'm on a role, woo!

REVIEW: )

P.S. By the way, those Latin words I used roughly mean what I said. "Novatis" means new, "vetus" means old, "nox noctis" means night, and "mater matris" means mother, or so a Latin website told me. Either way, I'm using the words as vampiric terms in this fic, and so "novatis" means, as I said before, "new vampire", "vetus" means "old vampire" and "nox noctis mater matris" means "mother of the night". Don't worry, I'll try to not use them a lot, and I'll try my hardest not to create/use anymore. Though I can't promise anything, seeing as I love language so much :P


	4. Old Friends

Recap:

"Ok, good. Now I have to go. Ginny can't stand it when I'm late for dinner. Says I make a bad impression on little Albus. Oh, speaking of which, I think he saw me the other night," he said excitedly as he slipped on his cloak. "He looked right at me."

"Harry, that's wonderful." She smiled warmly, hiding her constant inner pain. "Now go. Go home to your family."

The instant he was out the door she collapsed on the couch and cried until she was exhausted.

* * *

Chapter 4: Old Friends

Draco shifted in is plainly-lined coffin (he figured Hermione possessed a lavish one and intentionally gave him this drab one), straining his ears. Minutes clicked by in silence and, after enough time, he accepted he would hear no more. What he had heard—unable to shut their voices out due to close proximity, slightly raised volume, and heightened senses—was Hermione's soul breaking. She confessed her sadness and thoughts of suicide to Harry Potter, whose only comfort to her was steeped in selfishness. He wanted Hermione to have others to the house not only for her sake and sanity, but also so that he might visit less often or with more company than his blood-hungry best friend. And although this was needed information, the sort he could use to manipulate his captor, Draco had learned something far more valuable: Harry and Ginny Potter had a child together, an impossibility due to the fact that—having glimpsed the baby in Harry's mind—Draco knew the child had been conceived well after Harry had supposedly died. Through magic and determination she and the ether-realmed Harry managed to keep their son a secret.

Sighing with satisfaction, Draco closed his eyes and welcomed sleep. Since learning Harry was technically still alive, he had been torturing himself, trying to figure out how to present this information to Voldemort (should he ever escape) and not be turned away as a lunatic. The presence of the Potters' child, too young to have been conceived before Harry's death, would be all the proof he needed.

* * *

"Are you sure it's safe for us to bring Albus over there with Malfoy in the house?" Ginny asked as she finished packing her bag.

"Hermione has him under her control, hun," Harry replied after murmuring the necessary spell to have his words heard. He kissed her cheek hard, for any softer and she might not feel it. "The laws of nature are unbreakable. She saw to that when she captured him."

"Oh Harry," she sighed, looking in his general direction. "How did this all happen? Good is supposed to conquer evil."

"You know I work tirelessly to discover a window back into your realm. When that time comes, good will win, I promise you."

Ginny smiled tenderly, then lifted their son into her arms, signaling she was ready to go.

Taking a carriage from their simple flat in London to Hermione's country estate took a little less than an hour. Traveling by magic was out of the question, considering how heavily monitored Ginny's movement was. It was a wonder she was allowed to live free at all, being the "widow" of Voldemort's greatest enemy, but—having proved herself after two long years in prison—she was granted permission to live alone. She was checked in on every other week, and watched whenever leaving her flat. Using phenomenally advanced magic, she was able to create a spell to conceal her child as a sack of groceries or some other non-descript thing. Harry, of course, could not be detected, and so the only other thing Ginny had to worry about when traveling to see Hermione was disguising her trip as a shopping exertion.

"I'll divert them—" Them meaning anyone who was following her. "—to the shops in the plaza in town," Ginny said as the carriage stopped at an intersection, allowing another to pass, and Harry got out to walk the rest of the way to Hermione's. Once in a shop, Ginny would cloak herself with Harry's old Invisibility Cloak, then sneak out the back and through the woods to Hermione's house.

Panting slightly when she cleared the woods, Ginny stood outside the large house's side door for nearly five minutes before entering. One, to catch her breath and calm her nerves, and two, because she hadn't seen Hermione in so long that she was almost frightened of how far advanced her best friend had become.

She lifted her arm and gave the door three swift knocks, followed by two shorter ones, the signal for this trip (since they had to change the code each time) that Ginny was the one at the door.

Inside, Hermione and Harry turned their heads towards the back of the house, while Draco drummed his fingers tiredly on the arm of the chair he was sitting in.

"I suppose that means I must retreat into my coffin," he sighed, lifting himself heavily from the chair. "Can't have a mortal girl see more than one vampire at a time, you know."

"Close your mouth and do as you're told," Harry warned, leveling his eyes into a glare in Draco's direction.

"I may be bound by blood to obey an un-chosen master," Draco quipped, heading for his room and coffin, "but no where in my mind or body am I to follow orders from _you_."

"Draco," Hermione cut in, following him to the shadowed doorway. She placed an oddly gentle hand on his arm, gentle perhaps because of his cooperation as of late, and leaned on the doorframe. "Harry's commands are as good as mine, do you understand me? He orders you as I see fit. When we are both present, you are to obey him as you obey me, lest you want to be starved. It may seem as though it is a bearable punishment, but trust me, your mother begged for forgiveness only twenty-four hours into her solitude." Her voice had drop to an icy hiss, her grip on his arm had tightened. He saw true power when he looked into her eyes, though somehow it only served to make him more determined to escape her imprisonment.

"As you wish," was his reply, then he slipped from her grasp and into his coffin.

* * *

After only ten minutes, Ginny felt completely at ease in Hermione's stuffy, heavily-curtained home. She had even forgotten about their life-long enemy, shunned in another room not too far from where she held her small son.

"He's unbelievably gorgeous," Hermione said, caressing the baby's plump pink cheek. She didn't dare ask to hold him, fearing the inappropriateness of an always hungry vampire cradling a warm blood-filled helpless child. Not that she could ever harm him, or anyone she cared for, but the sensation was still present and had Ginny offered she would have politely declined, feigning disinterest. This, of course, was far from the truth. Hermione longed for a child of her own more than anything, and to simply hold a baby would fill her entire being with rippling waves of joy.

"We worry about when he grows up," Ginny remarked somberly. "How can a boy become a ma in captivity? He'll resent us for sure."

"He'll praise your determination and courage," Hermione replied with a small smile. "Sure he'll be bitter, but that's simply unavoidable with the world as it is now. Until we can finally overcome…this evil, there will always be bitterness. I wouldn't worry too much, Gin."

"I've heard word from my father that the survivors are planning a revolt before the year's out," Ginny whispered, suddenly very aware of Draco's presence by his obvious absence.

"The Annual Victory Celebration," Hermione surmised. Ginny nodded firmly, having guessed the same herself. Every year since the end of the war, Voldemort's supporters have a grand festival-like celebration to honor their lord and the triumph over non-wizards and their allies. It was widely known that those who failed to show their adoration by attending were either jailed or execute. Each year the "losers" were taunted and humiliated in the form of effigies and dark, rhythmic chants. It was a time Ginny and her kin rightfully dreaded. "But won't that be expected? Voldemort has spies everywhere, watching everyone. If he catches even a whisper, then everyone involved will be punished."

"Precisely. Which is why you and yours won't be expected, and neither will Harry. To the world you are dead, which for once is a benefit to us. Voldemort will see that none of us are a threat to him, and once he is at ease, you will be able to overcome him."

"And what is required of me and the others?" Hermione asked, leaning back. Ginny shook her head vigorously and gestured towards the doorway.

"Soon I will contact you, in the usual way, and you can ask my father yourself."

Hermione sighed softly and smiled at her friends. Perhaps her near-complete solitude was not in vain after all.

* * *

Hermione stood, wrapped loosely in a light cloak, on her back porch after Harry and his family had left, the air dry and soft on her cold, hard skin. She was not surprised when, ten minutes later, a familiar face emerged from the forest, slipping through the shadows with the careful grace of a dancer.

"Good evening, Seamus," she said when he was within polite speaking distance. She was glad he'd waited well after Draco had gone out to feed before he approached. She'd sensed him nearly a half an hour ago, but out of respect he gave her adequate time before he came to her, per usual. "You look pale. Did you not feed before you came?"

"You know I only feed once every three nights," he answered, smiling tenderly. Seamus had been turned maybe days before Hermione had, and luckily his "master" had been killed soon after, otherwise he would still be in Voldemort's service. They'd found each other one evening when he was running from a band of Death Eaters he'd accidentally stumbled upon. They were still hunting him of course, and so he always took a powerful (and extremely difficult to brew) potion once a month to keep himself hidden. (A/N: Hermione doesn't have to take the potion because Voldemort believes her to be dead due to the fact that the vampire's that turned her were too afraid to tell the truth that she'd gotten away for fear of punishment). This was usually the reason for his visits—because Hermione was the best potion master he knew—but seeing as he'd taken his potion only two weeks ago, there must be some other reason. The calm in his eyes told her not to worry.

"How is Ron doing?" she asked. Seamus had been living with Ron for the past few years, and Ron had done a phenomenal job of protecting him. Hermione still thought it silly that a vampire needed protection, but since the war nothing was as it should be anymore.

"That's why I've come, actually," he confessed, gesturing towards the door, indicating that he would rather discuss matters inside.

They settled in her den before a calmly flickering fire, succumbing to the comfort of each other's company. There was always something so satisfying about being with someone who understood you completely, simply by being of the same form. Reaching over, he took her hand. She flinched slightly at the coldness of his skin, wishing his morals would permit him to feed more often.

"Lone Death Eaters are hard to come by," he said, reading her thoughts, though it was more through her facial expressions and body language than actual telepathy.

"Death Eaters aren't the only evil people in this world, Seamus. We could—"

"Please," he begged, holding up his other hand. "We go through this every time. I live how I choose, as do you."

"Yes, I know," she sighed. "It's only my concern. Forgive my prying."

He smiled with gratitude, then released her hand and shifted his position on the sofa so that his body was turned towards her now.

"Ron wants to see you," he said, almost startling her with his abruptness.

"I assumed as much. Did he say what about?"

Ron never showed up unannounced like the others. His apprehension towards her and her situation was so high that he could only work up the courage to see her every few months, and only for a few hours at a time.

"I can't be sure, but I believe Little Albus has stirred him. Since his birth he's been…well, more skittish that usual."

Hermione suppressed a giggle at the thought of her former lover scurrying around like a mouse in is modest flat in the city.

"Has he aroused suspicion with his behavior?" she asked, her mood darkening immediately.

"He is watched as heavily as his sister, you know that."

"Which means?"

"None more than usual."

"Don't frighten me, Seamus. This is the man I loved we're talking about."

"Don't you mean love?"

She dropped her eyes and hunched forward, resting her elbows rigidly on her knees.

"A vampire cannot love a mortal," she whispered. "You should know that. It would kill us both, and nothing in this world could make me harm him. Not even my deepest desires."

* * *

As Hermione sat reading in her den, she felt the approach of her ward, some two miles away and walking swiftly. Her veins contracted, the thought of feeding taking control of her every thought. The book fell from her fingers, having realized that with all the commotion of the evening, she had not fed. A reckless thing really, since she had been in the presence of an infant for several hours, and another just as savory young woman.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. Damn her urges, and the fact that they caused her thoughts to wander to unpleasant territory. She loathed to think of her friends as meat, platters of fresh blood just waiting to be tapped. But then that came with the curse, something else she would have to endure for as long as she allowed her friends into her life. Eventually, however, everyone she ever loved would be gone, and then—finally—she could rest easy. Not that she ever wanted her friends to be gone, the idea more stinging than her urges to take them. But it would happen regardless of her wishes, and she might as well find something good in her fate.

Pulling on her heavier cloak, Hermione was just about to step into the hazy night air, when she caught an image in her mind's eye, sending a surge of hatred and disgust through her.

"That dirty, foul Death Eater," she hissed, clenching her fists almost to the point that she could draw blood from her hard, white palms. Moments later the gate to the back yard creaked open as Draco came in. She listened as his boots made soft clicking noises on the hardwood floors, his steps coming closer and closer, until they stopped. She turned around and went into the den, where she found him laying on the couch, his arms under his head and a look of immense satisfaction painted across his vampiricly-enhanced beauty.

She gave no introduction, and before he could utter a single syllable, he was across the room and on the floor. The crack of his skull against the stones of the fireplace was an echo through the tense air. He sat up, groaning, then screamed as he realized his left arm had landed in the blazing fire. Hastily he put out his smoldering arm with a pillow, then sat back against the cold stones, panting with fear and most likely anger.

"You _dare_ to disobey me, Malfoy," she seethed, her face inches from his own. He hadn't seen her move and the realization of her speed—and strength, having been tossed like a doll over ten feet—forced him to stay silent. "An innocent? _An innocent_! Did you think my instructions a mere suggestion!" She snatched at the collar of his shirt, lifting him off the ground with such ease that he might not have been occupying the shirt at all. Turning her arm, she twisted the fabric around his throat until the color drained from his face and he was gasping and clawing at her arms to be released. She did not oblige, however, and carried his through the house and into his room to throw him facedown in his coffin. "Five nights," she decreed, then shut the lid without so much as entertaining the idea of hearing him out. She sealed the coffin with a simple spell, then went outside and took a long, deep breath.

This time before she left to feed, she said a short, silent prayer to the dead innocent Draco had consumed, then didn't give him another thought. He served his punishment, and a hell of a lot more. Five days solitude and hunger would show him she was serious and, if not, then longer might do the trick. That was the thing with vampires. If someone was smart enough to capture one, then starving them was the surest way to get what you wanted. After enough time, any vampire was a pathetic puddle of grief at your feet, begging for even a drop of stale blood.

Tomorrow she would send for Ron and discover his reason for wanting to see her. And then, she could relax for the next few days with Draco shut away in a tiny box.

* * *

So I hope no one is too discouraged to read this fic anymore, since I do take an awful long time to update. I've come to accept this about myself, since there's little I can do about it. I have so little time, and in fact I just picked up another job, so that limits my time even more. I am always thinking of my stories, however, and writing quick notes to remind myself of ideas to use when I do get the time to settle down and write.

**REVIEW!!**


	5. Rehab

Recap:

Tomorrow she would send for Ron and discover his reason for wanting to see her. And then, she could relax for the next few days with Draco shut away in a tiny box.

* * *

Chapter 5: Rehab

Ron rubbed his hands in the grass to scrape off as much mud and dirt as he could. He glanced at the setting sun, then back at the path he'd just been on, and calculated the amount of time it would take him to get home, wash up, then be on time to meet Hermione. Realizing he didn't have enough time—because he couldn't Apparate without being monitored extremely closely—Ron groaned deeply, then continued on, dragging his feet as if his boots were made of lead.

What was he going to say to her when he saw her? He could hardly keep from kissing her whenever he worked up the courage to see her, let alone keep his words at bay. But it was always the same old conversation, and always he left feeling worse than when he'd arrived. Why did he torture himself? Why did they both? Fate had torn them apart, casting her into a life of murder and shadows. He could no longer relate to her, no longer be around her without needing to be _with_ her.

It had been so long since that long ago day when he first saw her, first realized that something was terribly wrong. Unlike Harry, he had not come upon her my mistake, but had planned on seeing her for some months before they actually got together. What with her "pronounced dead" and him heavily monitored all the time, it was a very taxing ordeal, but admittedly well worth it. Well before she had contacted him, saying she was still alive, he had heard whispers throughout the bands of survivors. Strange things had been happening for weeks, many thought to be dead had been turning up randomly, many of whom were immediately recaptured and executed. The lucky ones, those smart enough to ease back into society, were never detected by Voldemort or the Dearth Eaters and therefore lived out their lives in secret. Ron had known in his heart that the love of his life was still alive somewhere, and so when her letter arrived that warm day in September he could finally go to sleep at night without wondering what had become of her.

In the years spanning her disappearance, Ron had never even looked at another witch, let alone contemplated finding someone else. He knew Hermione was out there, and so he waited month after month, year after year, until his hopes were answered. But as the months went by, her letters revealed more and more, without saying anything about her state. Her lack of detail at her missing years, and the fact that she refused to answer any of his questions, caused him sleepless nights once again.

_"Hermione?" he whispered, taking small, even steps towards her in the large, dark room. Her face was pale and translucent, her hair curly and slick. She was as gorgeous as ever, and yet something ugly penetrated the would-be happy reunion. She tried to smile at him, to ease his discomfort, yet when her lips stretched they revealed her tiny pointed fangs. She realized her mistake immediately, snapping her lips tightly closed._

_Ron sank to the floor and moaned into his hands._

_"Not you!" he cried, leaning forward to bang his balled fists on the floor. "No, no! Not you! No!"_

_"I'm sorry," she whispered, casting her eyes at the fire of embers. Her mother had reacted in a similar way, which made her glad her father had not survived the war, for she couldn't have been able to bear two parents so heart-broken and disappointed. "I can explain everything if you'd like."_

_"All I ever wanted was to love you for the rest of my life," came his answer._

_She walked over and placed a forcibly steady hand on his shoulder. "If you continued to love me, and I you, we would both suffer and in the end be nothing to each other." He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when he saw the pain in her eyes. This hurt her as much, if not more, than it hurt him. "I cannot bear to lose a lover as well as a friend, Ron, and if we were together then that is what would happen. My life is eternal, yours short. How could we be together when we do not even share the same plane of existence?"_

_"I love you," he whispered, picking his head up to look at her. "I love you, and I always will. Nothing you say can change that."_

_"In time—"_

_"Hermione," he snapped suddenly, lunging at her. She was about to fight back, using her instincts, when she realized he only wanted to hold her. "Make me what you are, make me live eternally and we can be together! I don't care—"_

_"Ron," she said, pulling him closer. "You are the _last_ person I would ever agree to change. I love you, I cannot deny that just yet, and because of that I could _never_ turn you."_

Many times since then he had brought up the subject of them being together, of her changing him so they could live out their eternities together. But always she gave the same answer, always she was determined to keep him innocent to the horrors she faced every night. Seamus, working on her instruction, agreed to not change his friend as well, no matter how he begged. After enough time, Ron gave up trying to convince them, and instead focused his powers and resources on trying to find a way to make them mortal again.

"You're filthy," Hermione laughed as she laid eyes on Ron for the first time in several months. "Did you crawl here?"

"I went for a walk," was his short reply as he slipped through the doorway.

"I've missed you," she said, changing the subject. "Would you like anything to eat or drink? I—"

"—don't have much to offer, but…Please, Hermione, I'm sick of this charade."

"Very well," she sighed, gesturing towards the den. "Take a seat. I'll be right in. I just have to…check on something." She walked casually down the hall until she was out of view, and didn't take a breath before she reached the odd comfort of the room where Draco lay. Odd only because it was the first time that she was in a room with Draco Malfoy and it was where she wanted and needed to be. Being away from Ron, at this point in their fates, was the hardest thing for her to do, hence the need for her play of pleasantries. She didn't blame him for wanting her to "drop the charade". If she had been the one being constantly pushed away for a reason she didn't and couldn't understand, then she'd be bitter and authoritative too. But she was bound to her heart and to the blood that coursed through her, and so she could not with any honesty do what he asked. For then she could be going against her heart, and hurting the very person she loved and swore to never hurt intentionally.

"Your torture is intoxicating."

Hermione stiffened and looked up, a fraction of a second before she realized the voice.

"Silence would benefit you that this point," she said coldly, squaring her shoulders, as if he could see her. Though she knew he could sense her, and therefore he could feel the coldness of her demeanor.

"I loathe you," he whispered, so faintly that she was sure she picked up most of his words through his mind, rather than speech. "But I am also drawn to you. You did that," he pointed out, his voice hardening substantially, "when you bound us together eternally."

"I command you to be quiet," she hissed, just as she recognized Ron's even footfalls.

"That's awfully harsh," he laughed, his tone slightly depressed. "I wasn't aware that I'd done anything to you."

Hermione stiffened for the second time in five minutes, her eyes growing large as she turned to face her former lover. She hadn't told him about Draco, mainly because she didn't know what his reaction would be. He was, for technical purposes, her scorned lover, and therefore any other male in her life could be perceived as a threat. That, and he was their childhood enemy, someone not worth keeping alive to breathe the same air. Yet there was also the revenge factor, which was her only hope at avoiding an argument.

Taking a few steps forward, she placed a hand on Ron's shoulder and told him to follow her into the den so they could sit by the fire.

"I have avenged us," she said, looking at the floor.

If it wasn't for her tone then he would have been happy.

"What do you mean? What have you done? I thought turning Narcissa was revenge. And killing Lucius. How much closer are you going to get to Voldemort before he's sure to know you're still alive?"

"He won't discover me," she promised, raising her eyes. "I'm far too careful."

"What have you done, Hermione?"

"I've turned Draco and replaced Narcissa with him."

She noticed the subtle shrinking in his pupils, the way his nostrils expanded the slightest bit, and the all too familiar rise of pink in his cheeks. He was furious.

"Malfoy is the one that changed you!" he hollowed, jumping to his feet. "How valued he must be to Voldemort, 'killing' the smartest of us! You were as high on his list as Harry! He will be looked for, Hermione, and when he discovers his prized slave is in the hands of someone who ought to be dead—I can't even comprehend how disastrous this could be!"

"Ron, please!" she cried, crushing herself to him. "I did this for us! So we could finally have _something_ for all we've suffered! He is the reason—"

"And now he will be the reason you will die." The words were said with such an edge, such malicious intent, that she wondered for a moment if he actually wished her dead rather than changed. "I came here to ask for your love, to be with you, because I could _never _stop loving you. And now I see you've brought yourself _even further_ away from me. And for what? Something as petty as revenge? Hermione, I thought you were better than that."

"I—" But, as hard as she tried, she could not keep the anger from her veins, from her voice. She wanted to tell him how much she still loved him too, that she too couldn't stop by force. And yet, when she opened her mouth, the exact opposite came flying out. "Leave! I cannot be around you, you don't understand! You disrespect my wishes with your presence, so leave!"

He didn't need to be told twice. Before the echo could dissipate from the room, he was gone.

* * *

Draco opened his eyes a fraction of a second before the coffin creaked open. He was about to say something, make some biting remark at his "master", when he realized she'd left just as quickly as she'd come. It was just after dusk, the warmth of day still lingering in the air. He sat up, blood the only thing on his mind, but found it difficult to even grip the edges of his great wooden bed. Using all the reserves of his strength, he pulled himself up and toppled like a toddler onto the floor. He was thankful that Hermione's anger prevented her from being in the same room as him, and therefore she was not witness to his embarrassment. After an incredible amount of time, nearly ten minutes, Draco was finally able to climb to his feet, using the wall as support while he stood to regain his energy. He had to give her credit for his punishment; the way he felt right now was not something he wanted to ever endure again. And she had the absolute power to punish him again, worse if need be. It made him seriously reconsider his escape plan. He was going to have to make absolutely sure that he would get away and to Voldemort safely before he even thought about executing the plan.

"I expect you back within two hours," Hermione's voice rang through the cool house at the exact moment his fingers touched the doorknob to leave to feed. He could very well have ignored her command, for it wasn't formal or dictated, if not for what she said next. "Lest you want to fast for another few nights."

He slipped out the door without another thought of disobedience.

* * *

"You're positive?" the cold, hissing voice asked from the shadows beyond the fireplace.

"Yes my lord," a small wizard in rag-like clothing whispered, his head bowed and his arms behind his back, tucked up under his thinning cloak. Before the war he had been a wealthy man, yet wars cost money, which he'd "gladly" given up for what was supposed to be a better life. He still lived in his family's mansion, but now as a servant to the Dark Lord and his favorites, a mere ant in the world.

"How long has he not been reporting to his post?"

"Nearly a month, my lord."

"And I am just hearing of this now!"

The frail wizard shrunk back in fear, pulling his cloak ever closer to his body.

"He had been under cover for a long while," he answered quickly. "His reports were few and weeks apart. A search party was sent out a week ago and the report just came in that his camp was disturbed and deserted."

Voldemort's snake eyes eased in their anger and he sighed, giving a wave of his thin hand.

"Very well. You and yours have done fine work. Send the recon party to me as soon as they return."

"Yes, my lord."

"You can leave now."

"Yes, my lord." And he hurried from the room as quickly and respectfully as he could.

* * *

The forest was rank, the smell of heavy, wet wood carried through the air on a hot, sticky wind. Mud caked Draco's boots as he walked, slowing down his pace considerably. He had been gone for eight or nine hours now, and was just beginning to feel at ease. Hermione had left the day before, having gone to visit her mother on her birthday, and would be gone for at least three more days. It was quite possibly his only chance to escape. He hadn't seen Harry in several days, which caused him worried, but then ghosts didn't have the same tracking abilities as vampires, and so his worry was minimal.

"Sir, are you lost?"

Draco spun around so fast that he drew lost his footing. He had been so deep in thought that he hadn't heard the small girl's approach.

"No, child," he hissed, turning his nose up in arrogance. "Be on your way, you don't want to cross me."

"On the contrary, sir, I have been looking for you."

His eyes narrowed in confusion. Who was this girl? And what did she want with him, a Death Eater and rogue vampire?

"What do you mean? Tell me."

An eerie smile cut across her face, her tiny fangs just barely visible in the dim light of the canopy-covered forest floor.

"Fuck," he swore, at almost the same instant two familiar faces emerged from the shadows. "Mother," he groaned, not even bothering to acknowledge Sauda, a former muggle. "I should have realized."

"You've angered her greatly," Narcissa said, pulling out a magic rope from a pocket in her cloak. "She's determined to break you, Draco, and if you keep giving her reason to punish you then you will surely die."

"Is that really so bad?" he hissed, shoving his arms, wrist up, at her so she could tie him up and escort him back to Hermione's house. "Death or a life of servitude to a mudblood? I'd rather take death, mother."

"I wouldn't mock her blood," Sauda commented, coming up along side of him. "You share her blood now."

"As I'm continually reminded." He didn't even bother to look at her. "Who is the child?" he asked, remembering her in her sudden absence.

"Granger has many allies in the free vampires, Draco. Young Jillian was turned ten years ago and shunned by her powerful family. Hermione came across her and befriended her. They exchange favors. You were unlucky enough to stumble though _her_ forest."

"And how did the two of you happen to find us so quickly?"

"Do not worry yourself with the details, my son. Instead think on your disobedience and your punishment. This time you will be confined much longer, and therefore be much weaker once let out again. You must take this as a lesson and learn! Otherwise—"

"I know," he snapped, pulling away from her as much as he could while still bound. "Merlin, I know…"

* * *

Even the dull moonlight hurt his eyes as Draco's coffin lid was finally opened. After eight days he had lost count and absently wondered how long he'd been confined. His bones left brittle and bruised as he was forced to sit up and lean against the back of the coffin. With great effort—so much that a shudder of fear swept through him—he lifted the fingers of his right arm, which had been crossed over his left, and clasped his left wrist as hard as he could (which wasn't much). His arm felt hollow, as if not even if own blood still coursed through him. When he let go, the skin around his wrist was nearly black, his veins visible and dark red.

He looked up and caught Hermione's eyes, her skin milky white and her eyes focused. In her arms lay an unconscious man, his head hinged back. He groaned low in his throat, but other than that gave no sign of life. Draco knew without having to be told that this man was for him, evil radiating off of him like cheap cologne.

"Open your mouth, Malfoy," Hermione commanded. He only got his lips open far enough to slide in a sheet of think parchment. Hermione grumbled a few choice curse words and something about making a big mistake, then clamped her hands around his head—one at his forehead, the other under his chin—and forced his mouth open. He cried out in pain, his entire body tensing as wave upon wave of agony rocketed through him. "You didn't believe me when I told you how much you would regret crossing me. I hope this gets the point across, Malfoy, because bringing vagabonds here is not something I wish to do more than necessary."

He willed his tongue to produce words, to curse her or simply grunt in defiance, but even that was impossible. He narrowed his eyes as best he could, but she was already at the task of moving the unconscious man to feed him, and so didn't notice the slight change.

"This is going to hurt again," she warned, and he wondered why she was telling him this. She'd given no warning when she tore his jaw apart and in fact had looked rather pleased with herself. She hefted the large man high in her lap, draping his arm into the coffin. For a moment Draco feared she was going to leave him there, with a slowly dying man beside him that he would have to figure out how to feed on. "That would be impossible," she informed him, catching his thoughts. "You would die before you could ever summon the strength to reach him, even if only inches away." Almost tenderly, she grabbed the man's arm and tucked it in Draco's open mouth. "Now, as I said, this _will_ hurt." Draco braced himself, but nothing could have prepared him for the burst of pain that came with the simple act of closing his mouth around the man's arm. The pain seemed tenfold, crushing and pulling at every nerve and cell in his being to the brink of death. Just when he thought he would die of the pain, a sweet rush of warm blood cascaded into his mouth, numbing the pain to a barely tolerable ache.

Hermione felt her deed completed and stood to leave. She couldn't bear being around him any longer. Not after he forced her to do _this_ again. Although she was partially to blame, having known of his escape plan and setting him up to fail. But then he needed to know who is master was, where his place was.

"The pain will lessen slowly over the next five to seven nights," she said at the doorway. "When you are strong enough to stand I will no longer bring them to you. Weak or not, you can still overpower any mortal."

Draco gave no sign that he was listening, the intoxicating swarm of blood consuming his every thought. But he had heard her and it stirred within him a new and far more ingenious revenge plot.

Weak or not, she said, he could still overpower _any_ mortal. And he knew just who that mortal would be.

* * *

Ok, so I don't know if anyone is even reading this story, seeing as I'm getting little to no reviews. But for those of you who could be, I hope you're enjoying it. Perhaps some ideas or concerns?

REVIEW! : )

P.S. If you're wondering, Draco was in the coffin for fifteen days and nights. Damn, Hermione is harsh! Haha.


	6. Their Only Desire

Recap:

Recap:

Draco gave no sign that he was listening, the intoxicating swarm of blood consuming his every thought. But he had heard her and it stirred within him a new and far more ingenious revenge plot.

Weak or not, she said, he could still overpower _any_ mortal. And he knew just who that mortal would be.

* * *

Chapter 6: Their Only Desire

She was crying when he entered the garden, his senses heightened after having fed on two particularly vicious criminals only an hour before. He walked as softly as he could across the lawn, careful to sidestep rocks and the flagstone path to the back door. With every step he took, her pain grew deeper, stronger, as if it were pulsating from her being like radio waves.

Draco paused briefly before placing his feet on the porch, for never had he felt another's grief before. He wasn't a fool, he didn't need to be told the cause of her tears. She was in mourning for Ron, who had not shown his face at her house since their last encounter a month ago. He was the cause of this, of her pain, and Ron's. He tried to shrug it off and go inside—for Hermione instructed him to be home by 4:00—but something held him in place, listening to the gentle rhythm of her sobs.

His back stiffened as he suddenly became aware of another's presence in the garden. Cursing himself for lowering his defenses, Draco spun around and crushed the intruder against the nearest tree, some ten yards away. Gasping for air and clawing at Draco's hands around his throat, Ron Weasley came into focus.

"You have ten seconds to explain your presence or I kill you," Draco seethed, dropping Ron to the ground.

"I came to see you," he whispered, rubbing his tender neck. He climbed to his feet, looking for all the world that he wasn't afraid of the vampire standing before him. They both knew better.

"And what could you possibly need from me?" he scoffed. "Assuming I would ever lower myself to help you."

"Change me!" The words came out in an excited whisper, but they dealt a hard blow. Not because of what he'd asked or the difficulty in making a decision, but because Draco just now realized he had no idea _how_ to make a new vampire.

"I see you've failed in your quest to make your friends human again," he remarked callously.

"You've ruined my life in more ways than I can verbalize." Then Ron did the most startling thing. He dropped to his knees and took Draco's hand, kissing the back of it as if he were a servant to a king. "But I'm here—_begging you_—to make me what you are. You took the love of my life from me, but I will devote myself to you entirely if you do this for me."

Draco was too shocked for a moment to even think. What the hell was going on? As much as he loathed the destitute redhead, he'd always respected his convictions, his loyalties. Now he could only pity his former classmate, who groveled at his feet, literally begging him to end his mortal life.

"Go home, Weasley," he finally said, turning away. A second later and Ron was pinned to the tree again, having unsuccessfully tried to tackle Draco in anger. "If you really want to die tonight, then I'd be happy to send you off," he said through his teeth. "Try that again and I'll drain your blood faster than you can blink. Understand?"

Ron could only nod in response, and just barely. Draco reluctantly released his victim, sending him crashing to the ground.

"Oh God," Ron cried, tears rolling off his cheeks in waves. "Oh God, I love her so much."

Draco didn't even look back as he walked towards the house, where Hermione cried for the exact same reason.

"Get over it Weasley," he said, opening the back door. "She's dead."

He knew she'd heard the entire exchange before he stepped foot in the den. She wiped her eyes with a small handkerchief, then stood and advanced on him, coming within inches of his face in less than a second.

He braced himself for what was surely to come, then gasped in surprise as her arms came around him and she crushed him to her in a hug that would have killed a normal man. His muscles tensed and he arms went up to pull her away. And then she spoke.

"Thank you," she whispered, her lips grazing his throat and sending a shiver through him.

"I didn't do anything _for_ you," he protested.

"I know." She stepped back, wiping her eyes again, this time with her sleeve. "And I don't care. I love him too much to care." She grabbed him again, pulling his face so close their lips were almost touching. With her free hand, she caressed his cheek with motherly affection. "And if you _ever_ go against your decision and change him, I will rip you apart with my bare hands. I can only imagine how excruciating that would be for an undead like yourself."

Draco gulped audibly and nodded. He understood.

"Good," she said, smiling, then kissed him on the cheek. "You can go now."

* * *

The sun had reached its highest point in the sky when Ron emerged from the woods, his exposed arms and legs covered in random cuts and scrapes and his face dripping with salty sweat. Since he'd first lost Hermione—back before he knew she was a vampire—he spent his free time in the forests surrounding his home, doing a number of things to pass the time and keep his mind busy. Today he'd been chopping firewood, which he left in a shed about a mile from the house, forcing him to trek out there every time he needed to light a fire.

"Noon," he said, shielding his eyes from the sunlight. It would be several hours until Seamus would be up, and by then Ron would be gone, only coming home when he was sure his roommate was out to feed. Not that he disliked Seamus—on the contrary he was one of his best friends—but the idea of being around someone who could, but would not, change him, infuriated him. All he wanted, all he'd ever wanted, was to be with Hermione. Didn't they understand that a life without her wasn't worth living?

"I believe we can agree on that," came a raspy voice from behind him. Ron whirled around, his nose coming within inches of Lord Voldemort's. He tensed immediately, more from instinct than actual fear, then relaxed.

"My Lord," he said, fully aware of the penalty for not addressing him as such. Oh how tragically different this world was from that which he'd known and still craved.

"It seems you have some information vital to me."

"What information, my Lord?" he asked dumbly, knowing full well that he meant Hermione, or at least Draco, who was connected to her. Thankfully he'd mastered Occlumency during the war and could selectively shield his thoughts.

"Come with me," came his reply, his snake eyes closing for a moment in quiet frustration. Ron looked back in the direction of his house, longing for its protection. "Don't worry," Voldemort laughed. "Your vampire friend is in no danger…for now."

* * *

The house was full of voices when Draco came home. Listening in the garden, he picked out four voices, not including Hermione's, yet six souls registered with his keen senses. He recognized all but one, and the signature was oddly familiar. Approaching the house with caution—to warn Hermione of his arrival—he tried to pinpoint the person, but could not.

"Hurry up," Hermione snapped, her slender figure silhouetted in the doorway. "Go in the den, sit down, and don't say a word unless I tell you to."

He wanted to make some biting remark, but found his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. He cursed her power over him and went inside.

The first person his eyes fell on was Harry, perched regally in his usual chair, his wife at his side with their young son in her arms. On the sofa was Seamus, his skin glowing from having recently fed. And beside Seamus and Hermione sat an older woman Draco had never seen before but immediately knew who she was.

"Sit," Hermione commanded, and Draco sat in one of three remaining chairs.

"Hermione," the older woman warned. Draco wanted to laugh. Even as one of the undead, Hermione's mother still had parental control over her.

"As soon as Sauda and your mother arrive we can begin."

Draco didn't ask what she meant and, honestly, he didn't give a damn. Whatever she had to say didn't directly affect his life—her problems were her problems, no matter how she tried to pawn them off on him.

Several long minutes passed in silence. Draco covertly eyed the occupants of the room, yet his thoughts were elsewhere. He simply couldn't figure out Ron Weasley. Draco would give anything to be human again, to be back in his former glory. Yet all Ron seemed to care about was Hermione and any way he could find to be with her, even if that meant spending eternity living off the blood of other people. He had never seen such devotion, for although he and so many others were devoted to Lord Voldemort, they would betray him to benefit themselves in a heartbeat. Ron, Draco somehow knew, would _never_ do such a thing, so selfless his love was. It was something he would never understand.

The door creaked open and in walked the beautiful Sauda, her long dark hair flowing down her back. Narcissa came sulking in after her, looking rather wounded. Draco didn't care. As far as he was concerned his fate was her fault.

"Come in, sit down," Hermione said, her voice noticeably friendlier. "Have you fed?"

Both women nodded and out of the corned of his eye he noticed a slight change in Mrs. Granger's demeanor. She was more than a little uncomfortable with her only child's situation. Draco groaned inwardly at the thought. It was because of him that Hermione was what she was and her mother knew that. This would certainly be an interesting evening.

"What's happened?" Ginny finally asked, anxiously bouncing baby Albus on her knee.

Seamus stood, his eyes on the floor.

"Ron's been taken in for questioning." No one needed to ask by whom. In this world, Voldemort was judge and jury, the first and last say in all matters. "When I awoke I sensed his lingering presence. I consulted the necessary channels immediately and they informed me he…he'd been taken around noon and was awaiting his…verdict." In other words, he was as good as dead.

"What channels?" Draco blurted out, anger edging his voice. How dare they sneak behind his Lord's back! He could have every one of them put to death for treason.

"Nevermind that," Hermione snapped, warning him with a powerful look. "I called you all here to help get him back. Harry," she continued, her mind set on one track, "you can go where no one else can, so find out what you can from the bands of Death Eaters in the area surrounding Voldemort's compound. Ginny, you're to stay here with my mother should Ron come here looking for me. Seamus, contact any of our kind you can to the south of here and find out _anything_ related to Ron. I'll take the north—"

"What about me?" Draco asked. "What about them?" He gestured at his mother and Sauda, who were probably wondering the same thing.

"You will be staying in Greece with them until this has passed. I won't have you escaping back to Voldemort while no one's here who can stop you."

Draco's soul screamed. It was exactly what he'd been thinking. But before he had a chance to brood too long, there was a knock at the door. He felt Hermione's defenses flair, then relax.

"It's Benjamin," she said to Draco. "Let him in."

Draco stalked to the door and flung it open, noticeably shocked at who stood on the other side.

"Black!" he gapped. "Benjamin Black!"

"Good evening cousin," came his smooth, slightly Russian-accented, voice. He was a distant cousin, whose family moved to Russia at the start of the previous war. His family had remained loyal, but obviously he had not.

"Traitor," Draco hissed, backing away.

"Fool," Bemjamin countered coolly. "Blindly following your _Lord_. I pity you."

"How dare—"

"That's quite enough," Hermione cut in, pushing Draco aside. "Ben, forgive my rudeness, but what are you doing here? I haven't the time—"

"You're forgiven," he said with a smile which sank into a frown with what came next. "But I came here with urgent news. Your friend Mr. Weasley has been taken before Voldemort's tribunal."

"We know," she sighed, giving a half-hearted gesture towards the room full of people.

"Yes, of course," he said, his politeness masking his slight annoyance that she interrupted him. But he was a gentleman, or so his family raised him to be. "But I've just come from the compound. Hermione dear," he said, taking her hand. "His sentence is death." Before she could react, he quickly added, "Unless you return Mr. Malfoy to him."

"But…how…how does he know?"

"About Draco?"

"No," she scoffed. He would have discovered Draco eventually. "Me!"  
"We have channels too, Granger," Draco said smugly. "Unless, of course, your man ratted you out to save his own skin."

Hermione had him on the floor before anyone could blink. Seamus, the only other vampire in the room, was alone able to pull her off and hold her at bay while Draco caught his breath and the color returned to his cheeks.

"You'll regret that," she seethed, thrashing in Seamus' arms, only barely able to keep a hold on her. "And everything you've done to me! If you think starvation or sunlight are the only things that can harm you, then just test me," she goaded, her thrashing reduced to a violent tremble. Seamus eased his grip; she didn't move at him. "You haven't even come close to agony yet."

"Big words coming from a woman who spoon-fed me for a week!" he retorted. "If that's what you call revenge, then I'm ready for it."

"Hermione!" Harry yelled, his voice piercing the dimensions, for every single head snapped up in his direction, though only the vampires in the room could actually see him. "You don't have time for this! Go with Benjamin and bring Ron home," she said, his voice forcibly calmer, and now only Draco, his mother, Sauda, Hermione, and Seamus could hear him. "Sauda and Ginny will stay here with Narcissa. But I'm coming with you incase anything goes wrong."

Hermione looked at the floor in shame for a moment, then nodded and went for the door. He was right, but, here she was again, worrying about revenge more than what really mattered.

"It's nearly sun-up," Benjamin said, taking her by the wrist before she could leave. "I only came to warn you. I can't go with you or he'll know where my loyalties lie." Draco growled low in his throat, fully intending to expose his cousin for his treason. "I have to return now, but there will be Death Eaters here at dusk to retrieve you and Draco. I strongly advise the others to seek shelter elsewhere, for I'm unsure of the extent of Voldemort's information." He gave her a brotherly kiss on the cheek, then slipped out the door.

"He knows about me too," Seamus said into the silence. "So I'm coming with you. Ron is my housemate, I should have been able to protect him."

"This isn't your fault," Harry said, anger for Voldemort and so many other things coursing through him.

"He can't hear you, Harry," Hermione said, her voice oddly calm. "Sauda, I apologize for inconveniencing you, since now there's nothing you or Narcissa can do."

"They can come back to our house," Ginny piped in, going against her own wishes. The last thing she wanted was to be around Draco's mother for long periods of time. But she knew this was necessary, and Sauda was a kind woman. "And stay there until it's dusk and they can travel back to Greece."

Everyone, all at once it seemed, began to shuffle about, intending to fulfill the outlined plan. Draco, mildly confused and intensely angry, stood still.

"Excuse me!" he yelled, clenched fists at his sides. "Don't I get a say in this?"

"What are you talking about?" Ginny asked, glaring at him. _He_ was the cause of all their pain. "We're returning you to your precious Lord. You should be thanking us, you brat."

Draco knew that's what he had wanted, or should want, but something within him screamed like a frightened child, begging him to stay in the protection of Hermione's home. Of course it was no longer safe for her to live here, since Voldemort knew she still existed. But, even though she was determined to make him suffer for his wrongs against her, he somehow knew he was better off here than anywhere else. Voldemort, no doubt eager to have his golden boy returned to him, was more dangerous in a good mood than Hermione was in her worst.

"But—" He tried to protest, but his lips seemed immobile as his eyes surveyed the room, mostly full of people who he'd wronged at some point in his life to varying degrees. He would always be a heartless bully, a monster, to them. How could he ask them to let him stay after everything he'd done? How could he beg for their protection when it was the exact opposite of what they wanted, what he deserved?

"Get in your coffin," Hermione demanded, fed up with his stalling. "Tomorrow you will be returned to your Lord, whether you want to or not."

* * *

Damn! I sure did make a mess of everything, especially Draco and Hermione's blossoming relationship. I know, it's hard to see that this is going to be a Draco/Hermione fic, but bear with me, it's only the 6th chapter. I still feel that I need to develop the story and the characters and the plot more before I can touch that subject. If you read closely, there are moments between them, but it's only the beginning. Trust in me 

REVIEW!

Next time: the tribunal!


	7. The Tribunal

Recap:

Recap:

"But—" He tried to protest, but his lips seemed immobile as his eyes surveyed the room, mostly full of people who he'd wronged at some point in his life to varying degrees. He would always be a heartless bully, a monster, to them. How could he ask them to let him stay after everything he'd done? How could he beg for their protection when it was the exact opposite of what they wanted, what he deserved?

"Get in your coffin," Hermione demanded, fed up with his stalling. "Tomorrow you will be returned to your Lord, whether you want to or not."

* * *

Chapter 7: The Tribunal

Hermione and her mother stood in the garden an hour before sunrise, nearly prepared, but not at all ready for what was to come. Ron had been in Voldemort's compound for almost eighteen hours, but he would have to wait twelve to fourteen more for it to be night again.

"What if I fail?" Hermione asked, bowing her head. It seemed she had cried all of her tears for Ron already.

"Then at least you gave it everything you had," came her mother's soothing voice. It would have been beyond inappropriate for her to sweeten her words and give false hope. In the time since the war's end no one dared wish for more than was feasible. Mrs. Granger spent the better part of the war hoping and praying for the survival of her family. When her husband, the only man she'd ever loved, was killed then at least she could say she still had their daughter. Hermione's descent into the undead had sent a shock through her soul, hardening her almost instantly. The world was cruel and uncaring, and hope was for fools.

"He has begged me countless times to change him, mother," Hermione continued. "And I have refused, because I believed it was the right thing to do."

"And it was—"

"What if he dies?" she snapped, the anger filling her like hot air in a balloon. "I could have ensured his survival if I—"

"Killed him?" Mrs. Granger was the picture of calm. "You did the right thing, you did what Ron would have done in your situation. You love him truly, even if you can't express it."

"He begged Malfoy to change him too."

At this the older woman arched an eyebrow in confusion.

"When?"

"The night before he was captured, Ron came here to see Malfoy. He wanted to become what I am, and he was willing to sacrifice everything to do so. He went as far as to offer his eternal obedience to the damn rat. It's the first time I've ever been able to thank Malfoy for his selfishness and hatred. He refused to turn Ron because he refuses to help anybody."

Almost before the words left her lips, Mrs. Granger had her daughter in a loving embrace. She kissed her tenderly on the forehead and whispered, "I love you."

"I love you too, mum," she whispered back, her voice choked with emotion. But she did not cry.

"Well now." Her mother took a step back and straightened her hair. "I better get going. You need to rest before tonight."

"I will write you as soon as I come home, regardless of the news."

After a few more words the two Granger women parted. Hermione slipped back into the dark home she no longer felt safe in, and her mother continued through the garden towards the back gate and back to her own house. Her fingertips barely grazed the cold metal of the gate when an arm snaked around her throat, jerking her back and off her feet. She tried to scream, but no sound came as her assailant was crushing her airway. Seconds passed as she scratched and kicked, thrashed and bucked. And then her heart paused, skipping a fraction of a beat. A moment later and there was a sharp, searing pain at the base of her neck, followed by a feeling of dizzying weightlessness.

"Mum!" Hermione's scream echoed across the garden, piercing Mrs. Granger's heavy consciousness. She heard footfalls pounding in her direction, which abruptly stopped just as they came close.

"Another step and I snap her neck," came Draco's thick, blood-coated voice.

"You fed on my mother!" she cried, using every ounce of strength to not lunge at him.

"I was going to wait until later, but unforeseen circumstances have interfered with my plans. If you do not agree to my terms then I will kill her, understand?"

Hermione's pulse quickened as her outer countenance calmed. She needed to remain focused for this, no matter what.

"I thought you wanted to go back there," was the most logical thing she could think to say.

"After I failed to kill you? After I failed to evade capture? What do you think he's going to do when he has me back? Because I'm certainly not in line for a promotion!"

"You can't honestly be asking for protection after all you've done to me and my friends."

"No," he seethed, tightening his grip on his victim. "I'm _demanding_ it. So make a decision, Granger. Weasley or your muggle mother. They'll both die eventually, how soon is up to you."

"Draco, please," she said, completely unshamed by her words. She loved her mother and would do anything to keep her safe. "She's my mother. How can—"

"You killed my father and enslaved my mother!" he countered, startling her with his conviction. And she thought he didn't care about them. "And now you've enslaved me! You've had your revenge, now it's my turn."

"You said I had a choice," she reminded him, for it sounded an awful lot as if he'd forgotten.

"Fuck it," he said, his voice calm and level. "I changed my mind. You took away the only family I had, and now I'm going to do the same to—"

Just as Hermione moved at him, Draco's grip around her mother loosened and she fell to the side, bruised but alive. His face contorted with rage as his plans for escape and revenge crumbled before him, while his eyes bulged from the pain of Harry's hands clamped around his throat. Hermione need not ask; Harry had always been there for her, and this was another one of those times.

"I'll get her home safe," he told Hermione. "You take care of him."

He let go of Draco just as Hermione came forward to take his place, her grip arguably five times tighter.

"Mum, Harry's here and he's going to take you home, ok? I can't let him go, I can't let Ron down."

"Hermione," she began to protest, but was cut off.

"Mother! Please, just do this for me. Harry's right next to you, he'll be with you the whole time. No one will harm you. I promise. I love you."

Before she could respond, Harry summoned his strength, reaching through the dimensions, and grabbed Mrs. Granger around the waist, forcing her through the gate and into the coming dawn.

"It's nearly morning," she whispered, her face inches from Draco's. "I could leave you here to burst into flames."

"And then how would you barter for your lover?"

Hermione the scholar would have responded with words, would have made some witty comeback that was both true and harmful. Hermione the vampire, on the other hand, was all instinct, all fight. She didn't even allow her brain to process her thoughts before she reacted, taking her balled first to Draco's fleshy temple. He crumpled into her arms and she was able to carry him inside just as the morning broke.

* * *

Hermione awoke delirious and uncomfortable in a coffin that was not her own. Opening her eyes, she saw Draco's unconscious body beneath her. Realizing she must have gone to sleep before she could reach her own coffin, she scrambled off of him, very aware that it was night again and Death Eaters would be at her door any moment. Shaking Draco awake, she left the room to get herself ready and await Harry's arrival, which would hopefully be before her arrest.

"Where are you going?" Hermione demanded as Draco went for the door.

"To feed, where else?"

"Even if we didn't have to go before Voldemort any moment, there's no chance I would allow you to. Be lucky I'm not confining you to your coffin until they arrive."

"You act as though you're surprised at my behavior. Have I not been trying to escape since the moment I was dragged here?"

"You crossed a line, Mal—"

"Drop it, would you?" he groaned, running his fingers through his hair. "Didn't we go through this already? You _killed_ my father. You basically did the same to my mother, and to me. Is it so wrong for me to want revenge?"

"Revenge for what? For _my_ revenge?"

"It's as though you're only as smart as you want to be."

Hermione's back stiffened. What did he mean by that?

"We're not the same people, Hermione! We don't want the same things, don't come from the same worlds. We're bound together by some cruel twist in fate, but we don't _belong_ together."

"I thought you didn't want to go back to Voldemort anymore."  
"That doesn't mean I want to stay here. I want the protection of the underworld, not you."

Hermione noticed Harry's presence in the kitchen long before Draco would, and she sensed the Death Eaters fast approaching. Seamus hadn't gotten there yet and, in her heart, she hoped he was too late. She didn't need yet another's blood on her hands.

"Your friends will be here any minute," she said, standing to meet Harry, "to take you home."

"But—"

"I'm a reasonable, logical person, Malfoy. Maybe you should have tried your sob story before attacking my mother. We probably could have reached an agreement."

* * *

Ron welcomed the night with a sigh. Soon Hermione would be here to save him, and then, having realized he could have died, she would change him. He hated that it had to come to this, but, now that it'd happened, he was glad for it. For once Voldemort's scheming had worked in his favor. He couldn't say he was grateful, but he certainly wasn't upset.

A bell sounded not too far away, in one of the towers of the compound. Ron looked up to see a procession of cloaked, masked figures walking in a line towards the fire pit at the center of the grounds. With a flick of a wand, one of the Death Eaters lit the wooden teepee, casting the compound in a murky, yellow glow. Almost immediately after, the south entrance opened and in walked a dozen more Death Eaters, lead by Hermione and Draco. Ron didn't need to be told that Harry was there too.

Voldemort's bell—one with a lower, deeper tone—sounded and out walked the Dark Lord, his cloak cascading behind him with unwarranted grace. He stopped just short of the bonfire, signaling to the guards beside Ron to take him down. He caught Hermione's eyes, smiling meekly at her as they dragged him roughly before her.

"Ronald Weasley, of pureblood descent, you are brought before this tribunal on the charges of conspiracy, heresy, and treason," a Death Eater read from a scroll in his hands. "Your sentence is death, lest we reach an agreement otherwise." The cloaked Death Eater motioned for Hermione to step forward with Draco. Two Death Eaters beside them attempted to take her arms, but were met with a warning snarl and barred fangs. Lifting her pale face high in the firelight, Hermione came forward, her hand clamped tightly around Draco's wrist, her nails digging into his flesh.

"You're supposed to be dead," Voldemort remarked, his eyes shifting to Draco for an instant.

"Technically I am," she replied with a tight smile.

"How is it that you've managed to avoid detection for so long?"

Hermione shook her head, her long, silky curls gleaming in the light. On the other side of the fire Ron bit his lip to keep from smiling. Even at her cruelest, even as she was face to face with the most evil of wizards, she would always be the sexiest woman he'd ever known.

"That is not part of the agreement. An exchange was all that was mentioned. Be content with knowing I'm still out there."

A collective gasp arose from the crowd of vengeance-seeking Death Eaters. Not since the rebellion three months after the end of the war had anyone dared even contradict Lord Voldemort. Yet here before them a young muggle-born witch turned vampire was blatantly denying him his rights. Noting their reaction, Hermione smirked, always a rebel at heart.

"Very well." Tensions mounted as the words passed his thin, white lips. Was he truly bending to her? The law dictated that he need not, that his word was final. No one even breathed for fear of upsetting the fragile balance in the air. "Make the switch."

Hermione stepped forward, pulling Draco along with her and stopped beside the raging flames, unconsciously taking in their warmth and light. The Death Eater who had read aloud the scroll took Ron by the elbows and jerked him towards them. A moment of silence passed, Hermione's eyes locked with that of the Death Eater. No words needed to be spoken as, at the same instant, both released their captives. Ron rushed to Hermione's side, but dared not touch her, as she made no move towards him. She watched, eyes cold and hard from so many nights of hunting and killing. Draco's feet glided along the ground as if carried on the wind, his face forward, but his mind stalled. This was it, this was what he'd been both fearing and craving since his capture. His foot no sooner hit the ground, in front of where the Dark Lord stood, than he was yanked into the air and flung aside, crashing hard into the Death Eater who stood there.

"I'll deal with you later," Voldemort hissed, then focused back on Hermione, who had yet to relax. "Miss Granger, I'm assuming you are capable of keeping your word. Now that I've returned Mr. Weasley to you, I do not expect to have to bring you here under similar circumstances. Am I correct in my assumptions?"

Again the tension thickened, coating the voyeurs like a blanket of snow. Not a one of them had ever even heard of—let alone witnessed first hand—their master _asking_ another if he was right.

"You are correct," she said with a smile and a nod. "And yourself? Will I be receiving the same courtesy?"  
Voldemort bowed at the waist, his eyes on her the whole time.

"You have my word."

"Very well. Good evening."

Turning, she caught Ron by the arm and hurried him towards the exit. Harry lingered a few yards behind them, watching Voldemort and the Death Eaters with suspicion. The switch had been too easy, too quick. Something was wrong.

"Hermione," Ron gasped, fumbling over his own feet. He wanted both to kiss her and demand to know why she was pulling him so hard. He was only mortal, he couldn't move like her.

"Quiet," she ordered, picking up the pace slightly. She glanced over her shoulder to see Harry behind them, as cautious as she was. Turning her head back she swore under her breath, having caught a jagged movement out of the corner of her eye. She gave herself no time to brace her fall as she hurled Ron around her and into a water-starved bush, then dove in after him. The Death Eaters closed in on them, unaware of Harry's presence and rage.

"Come out mudblood," one of the female Death Eaters snickered.

"You can't do this!" Ron cried, jumping to his feet. He'd been raised with morals, standards, respect—all of which Voldemort was violating. "You made an agreement!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

"No!" screamed a voice from within the crowd of anxious Death Eaters.

A violent green light seared through the night air, rocketing towards the target on Ron Weasley's chest. With no counter-curse and no way to block the spell, Ron stood—dumbstruck—as the lightning bolt of death came at him. Hermione leaped into the air to shove him out of harm's way and, at the same time, Draco emerged from the crowd and threw himself between the blast and Ron's stiff form, taking the full weight of the curse.

Eons passed in a heartbeat and Draco opened his eyes, breathless and bruised, but completely alive.

He hesitated only an instant to take a breath, then stumbled towards the crumpled figures of Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley and—to the utter horror of all the others—Harry Potter, who must have jumped in front of Draco a second before the curse hit.

"Potter!" Draco exclaimed, falling at his side. He was too shocked and jostled to realize what had occurred. The killing curse had, yet again, failed to take Harry's life as unprecedented circumstances prevented it. "Get up, Potter!" he commanded, hauling the once-invisible ghost to his feet. "Granger, Weasley, come on!" He had only seconds before the shock wore off, before everyone realized the magnitude of the situation.

"Stop them!" Voldemort bellowed, rage scorching through his veins like liquid metal.

Harry snapped back into reality just as the Death Eaters began closing in around them. Without thinking, he grabbed Ron's arm (Hermione was already clutching his unconscious body; Draco was still in the process of shaking Harry back to his sense) and apparated to the first place he could think of: Hogwarts.

The four former students tumbled onto the lawn outside the once-magnificent school, now the ruin it had always pretended to be.

"Harry! Ron!" Hermione cried, throwing her arms around them. "You're alive!"

"Yeah," Harry whispered, stunned. "Thanks to Malfoy."

* * *

If this doesn't get reviews, I don't know what will!

REVIEW!


	8. Culling the Herd

Recap:

Recap:

The four former students tumbled onto the lawn outside the once-magnificent school, now the ruin it had always pretended to be.

"Harry! Ron!" Hermione cried, throwing her arms around them. "You're alive!"

"Yeah," Harry whispered, stunned. "Thanks to Malfoy."

* * *

Chapter 8: Culling the Herd

Draco scrambled backwards and to his feet, nearly falling over a loose rock in the process. He gave himself a moment to gather his wits, then turned and fled towards the castle. It wasn't until he reached the front doors—broken down and rotting—that he realized they weren't going to chase him, didn't want to dismember him. Slowly he turned and saw them standing at the lake's edge, watching him with curiosity.

"We better get going," Hermione called. "We need to find a hideout before sunrise."

All he could do was stare at her, his arms hanging dumbly at his sides.

"No one's going to hurt you," Harrry added, gesturing for him to follow. Draco's eyes shifted to Harry, who seemed clearer somehow, more solid. It must have been a trick of the moonlight, he thought.

He took a tentative step forward, both hesitant and eager. Why were they being so civil to him? He didn't understand.

"What do you want?" he asked, still several safe yards away.

"You did a noble thing, Draco," Hermione said. "Don't overshadow it by making things difficult. It's important that we find a safe place to hide, both from the sun and Voldemort."

"Noble?" he murmured to himself, searching his memory. The last thing he remembered was being hauled out of the garden after feeding on Mrs. Granger. Of course he was aware that some time had passed, yet he had no idea how long or what had happened. This was the moment his eyes settled on the hunched figure of Ron Weasley standing in the shadows behind the other two, his face drenched in sweat and red with exertion. His nerves contracted within him, causing him to visibly tense—what the hell was going on!

Hermione smiled warmly at him.

"I'll explain everything if you come with us."

* * *

"I don't think Ron would have survived had it only been you between him and the curse," Harry said, after Hermione finished explaining the situation. "You're dead and so I believe it would have gone straight through you to Ron. But because I jumped in front of you and took the brunt of the blow, Ron is alive and I'm no longer in the spirit realm. Had circumstances been any different—had you not been there as a buffer—who knows what could have happened."

"Excuse me?" Draco balked, looking from face to face in the fire-lighted cave they'd found an hour before. "I jumped in front of a blood traitor to save him from the killing curse, risking my own life? You can't be serious."

"You hardly risked your life," Hermione scoffed. "There's only one thing that kills a vampire and it certainly isn't a curse. Either way," she continued, adjusting her tone, "your attempt to save Ron has opened my eyes. Although you are by no means forgiven, your actions will not be forgotten. And I thank you."

"How is it that I don't remember any of this?"

Hermione shrugged.

"I don't really care," she sighed, looking to Ron, who smiled back at her with fervor. "It was a unique situation. Perhaps the combination of the curse and immediately apparating afterwards shocked your memory. All that matters though is you did it, and Ron is alive."

* * *

After nearly two weeks in hiding, Harry finally felt it was safe to contact their friends and family and explain what happened. Harry wrote a brief note to Ginny telling her where to meet them, while Hermione wrote to her mother, Sauda and Seamus, and Ron wrote to his family. It was risky, therefore the notes were written in layered code, which Hermione invented during the war to safely pass information. It was simple once you understood it, but impossible to solve if you didn't, making it a valuable asset to the light side. It basically took the standard coded message to a different level, coding the words in as many layers as was necessary. Given the importance of the message and the hazard of sending it, they wrote in six layers, identifying it with six hatch marks on the envelope. Now all that was left to do was wait and hope their messages were delivered undetected.

In the two weeks they'd been hiding—moving from place to place in order to stay hidden—Draco hardly spoke to his companions. This was normal to them and so no one gave his behavior a second thought. On the outside he appeared the same stone cold kid they'd known since childhood. Inside, however, he was brooding and confused. Since the night they rescued Ron from Voldemort, he'd been experiencing vivid dreams, depicting exactly what Hermione had described to him. He wasn't sure if they were just dreams, manifested by her story, or actual memories. Either way, he felt betrayed by his own mind, afraid of what he would do next. Was it _her_ blood coursing through his veins that caused him to act this way, so unlike himself? Or was he slowly changing, slowly beginning to see the world in a different way outside Voldemort's heavy influence? Even his thought patterns had changed, along with his ambitions. Being undead and virtually immortal, he had eternity to do as he pleased. Voldemort no longer held power over him, a fact that both frightened and exhilarated him. Mostly, he had to admit, he was glad to be free, no longer afraid to make a wrong move for fear of losing his life. For he was already dead! He hadn't thought of that before, when he'd foolishly used Hermione's mother to keep him out of harm's way. He hadn't been in danger at all to begin with. And, if he allowed himself to think it, he only had Hermione to thank.

"Malfoy?"

Draco looked up to see Hermione coming towards him, her hair pulled back from her face in a way he'd never seen before. An odd feeling struck him in the chest; she was so beautiful. She took a seat beside him in one of the barely-held-together wooden chairs they'd found in the abandoned house they were staying in tonight. Tomorrow they might not have furniture, and so they took advantage of it, crowding every stick they could find into the living room. There were broken beds in the two bedrooms, one of which had no windows and so Hermione and Malfoy would be staying there in the morning, after Ron and Harry woke up. Since they needed someone to watch out for Death Eaters at all times, the humans slept at night and kept watch during the day, and vice versa for the vampires. It was a simple system, yet Hermione craved Ron's company, which she only had the pleasure of a few hours a night.

"I haven't seen you leave to feed yet," she remarked, a lousy attempt at conversation. Although they'd hardly spoken in two weeks, they had wordless exchanges with their eyes in passing. An understanding had been reached between them. He was on their side, for now, and so she was going to give him the benefit of the doubt, she was going to trust him as much as she could.

"It's only one," he said, glancing out the window at the moon. He didn't need a clock anymore to know what time it was. "I'm never hungry until three."

"Would you mind terribly if I joined you?"

He turned towards her and found she was staring right at him, her eyes focused and eager. Something serious was on her mind and had been for awhile.

"Stop acting as though I did something selfless," he groaned, turning away again. "I'm the same person I've always been. I probably saved Weasley's life to impress you, to make you help me. I'm not a saint, Hermione, and I don't appreciate being treated like one."

"You keep saying that, yet you also give yourself away. You've been calling me Hermione for weeks now, even before we went to the compound. You're changing, Draco, even if you don't realize it."

He sighed loudly then stood and walked to the window. She waited a moment, then joined him, standing only a foot behind him. He could feel her breath on his neck and, for the first time since he was turned, he felt aroused. Could vampires still make love, he wondered.

Then, startling her in a way that she never anticipated—she had the reflexes of a cat—he grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her towards him, their lips touching for an instant before he spoke, pulling his head back slightly.

"Do not count on my cooperation," he hissed through his teeth. "I will do as you command because I have no other choice, but given the opportunity I would rid myself of you in a heartbeat. You have caused me nothing but trouble, ruined any chance I had at becoming a great wizard and I will _never_ forget that."

Hermione's muscles tensed as she prepared to tear herself free, having satiated her curiosity. She knew he was aware of this fact, that she'd allowed him to grab her and spit vicious words in her face. Now she was going to show him just how great her physical power was.

"But you've also given me something I could never have obtained on my own," he whispered, loosening his grip on her, giving her pause. She'd been a millisecond from punishing him. "Wizardry can only go so far, as I've seen in so many, including my father and the Dark Lord. Immortality, however, has no limits and infinite potential. It might not have been a gift," he continued, leaning in as close as he dared, "but I believe I owe you a thank you." He closed the gap between them, intrigued by the icy chill of her blood-starved lips and the way she yielded to him completely. For an instant, at least. Once the realization of the moment dawned on her, she sank her fangs into his lower lip and jerked her head to the side, tearing his lip from the left side almost clean off. He stumbled back, clutching his wounded mouth, pouring blood all over the dusty wooden floor. The shock hurt worse than the pain; his kiss, though fueled by lust and hostility, had been genuine.

"Try that again and it'll be more than your lip I sever." He caught the innuendo immediately and shrunk against the window. "I came in here to have a simple conversation, Malfoy, to be civil with you. Now I can see you're beyond such a thing, so thank you for saving me the trouble of further attempts. You've made yourself clear, as I hope I have." She turned her back on him, heading for the door to go feed. "Your lip will heal within the hour, then you can go feed. If you're not back and in your coffin when I wake tomorrow night," she said, referring to a few scattered nights as of late that he'd chosen to sleep elsewhere, "we will leave you and you'll have none of my protection again. Am I clear?"

He nodded slowly, his hand cupped under his chin.

"Good. And you're welcome. Vampirism suits you."

* * *

The sun was just beginning to peak behind the trees when Harry stepped outside, a steaming mug of tea clutched between his hands. Tomorrow night he would see his beautiful wife again, he could touch her, kiss her, make love to her. He could hold their son in his arms, bounce him on his knee, fly him through the air over his head. It was almost more than he could stand to wait another thirty-six hours. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he almost didn't see Ron sitting on the edge of the porch, hunched over and silent. Guilt struck him immediately. How could he rejoice in his new found solidity when his best friend could have nothing which he desired?

Harry took another sip of his drink, then sat beside his friend, giving him as much time as he needed to talk.

"She hasn't said a word to me about it," Ron said, not moving. Harry didn't need to ask what he meant. "We've been hiding out for weeks and not once has she even hinted." Suddenly he looked up and Harry saw that he'd been crying a short time ago, his eyes still swollen, his cheeks only recently dry. "I've gone through hell and back and the only thing that kept me going was the hope that she would turn me, she would make me hers forever. I was moments from death, Harry, and she doesn't even care."

"Don't you _dare_ say that," Harry snapped, slamming his mug on the porch beside him. Ron went rigid with shock, then slouched back into position, a heavy glare marring his features. "She loves you more than you could ever comprehend. That's why she won't do it. It'd be selfish of her to even consider it, Ron. And it's selfish of you to ask, to put her through that. What if it had been you? What if she begged you time and again to turn her into a monster so you could live out eternity together?" He sighed deeply, then stood and walked a few paces towards an old apple tree that no longer produced fruit, a ghost of its former self. "I understand your pain, don't think I don't. I know what it's like to yearn for something you can't have, to always be taunted. I'm not going to pretend that this is easy, that things are going to magically get better, because they won't. Maybe not ever. But just try and imagine what Hermione is going through, and how much pain she would be in knowing she took your mortality from you, your chance at a real life. It would ruin her, giving her nothing but guilt and shame." Turning from the tree, he offered Ron the weak, unpracticed smile of a man trodden with the very things he hoped to spare Hermione. "She loves you. Don't make her hate herself."

* * *

"Merlin, Ginny!" Harry cried, rushing to his wife's side, her smile betraying the pain she was surely feeling in her face. One of her eyes was blackened and puffy, and a long, thin cut graced her otherwise beautiful young face from the corner of her right eye, across her lips and under her left ear. "What happened?" he demanded. "Who did this?"

"Some random Death Eater," she huffed, as if it were only a scratch and not a threat on her life. But then Ginny had always been the tough one, the headstrong one. She was probably more upset at having to deal with explanations than the actual attack. It made Harry love her even more. "He said this was a warning, that if I didn't come clean about you and everything else that he'd kill me and everyone I love." An almost cynical smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. "So I decided to bring them all here," she said, gesturing towards the group of people Harry seemed to only now notice. Among them were the remainder of the Weasleys, Hermione's mother, Seamus' immediate family, and many other faces Harry had not seen in years. "Oh my God!" Ginny cried suddenly, throwing herself at her husband. "Harry, I can see you!"

It was his turn to smile.

"You finally noticed," he laughed, kissing her full on the mouth. A stinging, sweet sensation ran through him. Merlin, he'd missed those lips.

"Tell me—"

"Let's get everyone settled first," he cut in. "I'm sure everyone wants an explanation."

Harry ushered his family and close friends into the old farm house they were squatting in for the night, very aware of the time. Ginny waited at the rear of the group, son in arms and bright as the day they'd met.

"He missed his daddy," she said, offering him the baby. He took little Albus into his arms and allowed the heart-stopping sigh to pass through him, enjoying the emotion of happiness for the first time in too long. "My father is still adamant about his former plans."

Harry looked up, confused.

"But I—"

"We'll have to alter them, of course. The vampires can still be used though."

"Gin, please don't talk that way."  
She frowned and nodded, looking away.

"I'm sorry Harry," she sighed. "It's just that—God damn it! I hate him so much! He has to pay for what he's done, who he's hurt and killed. And I know it's wrong of me to use Hermione and Seamus like bait, but it's our only choice. There aren't many of us left that still believe in good, that still have the power to strive for it. And I know Hermione wants that too."

"I know, but—"

"She's right, Harry," came Hermione's voice as she rose from a dark rectangle in the earth only yards from them. The farm house had come equipped with a fallout shelter from wars ago. Hermione and Draco felt it fitting that they should rest in the ground and took to their den with grace. "I do want it, and I'm willing to do anything for my cause." She gestured at the house and the land around them, at the silence for miles. "This is the perfect headquarters," she pointed out. "We can set up decoy hideouts, leave false trails, everything we used to do in the old days." A girlish smile touched her lips. "There's nothing more I want in this world than to avenge those I love, Harry, living or dead. And if that means putting myself in danger, then I'll do it. I have no qualms about heading the front lines. I've been preparing for this for years." A glimmer of her former self flickered in her eyes as she stepped into the moonlight of the new night. She placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, holding his gaze. "I may have been unconscious," she whispered, "but I know what passed between you and Ron yesterday. He is living proof that this cannot go on any longer, and I am willing do to _anything_ to make it happen."

Her hand slid back to her side in one fluid motion. She smiled warmly at Ginny, who smiled back, sporting her fresh wounds, then turned and headed back towards the fallout shelter.

"Seamus, Draco, and I will go feed before the meeting," she said. "Brief everyone, and when I get back we'll discuss plans. Tomorrow night Sauda and Narcissa will arrive, and then we'll round up the rest of the rebel vampires."

* * *

Something's going down! Hermione is pissed and the world's gonna know! But what of her and Draco? Her and Ron? Will love endure? Or is blood really thicker?

REVIEW! (to find out)


	9. Carnal Instincts

Recap:

Recap:

Her hand slid back to her side in one fluid motion. She smiled warmly at Ginny, who smiled back, sporting her fresh wounds, then turned and headed back towards the fallout shelter.

"Seamus, Draco, and I will go feed before the meeting," she said. "Brief everyone, and when I get back we'll discuss plans. Tomorrow night Sauda and Narcissa will arrive, and then we'll round up the rest of the rebel vampires."

* * *

Chapter 9: Carnal Instincts

Draco's pace leveled off behind Hermione and Seamus, who seemed of one mind: feed and return home. His thoughts, however, were solely on the woman moving gracefully before him and their jarring encounter. He was drawn to her, he couldn't deny that. What was still in question was how, and whether he would tolerate it for long. The kiss had been a surprise to him, but now that it'd happened it was all he could do not to kiss her again. At first he tried to shield his thoughts from her, to focus on anything else, but then he realized he _wanted_ her to know, to experience the same discomfort every time they were near each other. That might get her back from doing this to him, making him feel these impossible feelings. Because he truly believed it was her blood causing the problem, forging their connection. And surely it was also the blood that made him happy—if he could use that word—to feel for her.

Suddenly Hermione was beside him, her face serious.

"Stop that," she ordered, as if she actually believed she could make him control his thoughts. "You don't like me."

He smiled wryly at her.

"Oh, but I do." True he was only trying to antagonize her, but perhaps there was some truth in his words. If he was going to have these feelings, then he would have fun with them. And playing with Ron's head was just the fun he intended to have.

"Leave him alone," she warned, barring her fangs. "If you think I'm harsh for what you do to strangers, just try me. I'll make you beg for a tan."

"I don't think—"

Her hand was around his neck and she had him pinned to the ground before he could finish his sentence. She was almost straddling him, her face dangerously close. He was both terrified and aroused, the former being the dominate emotion.

"That's your problem," she spat, ignoring Seamus' protests that they didn't have time for this. "You never think. And certainly not about anyone other than yourself, you miserable prat."

"But isn't that what this is all about?" he whispered, as if he could talk low enough for Seamus not to hear. "I _am_ thinking about someone other than myself. And that's _your_ fault, Hermione. _You_ brought me here. _You_ decided to change me rather than kill me. _You_ wanted this petty revenge. The only thing I'm responsible for is what I did to you; it was entirely your decision to handle it this way."

Giving an angry sigh, Hermione pulled herself off him, offering him her hand. He hesitated a moment, then took it, allowing her to pull him to his feet. As soon as he was upright, she yanked him towards her, their eyes level.

"Be careful," she seethed, then shoved him away and stalked after Seamus to feed so they could return to the farm as soon as possible.

* * *

"If we can get all our people together by the end of the week," Ginny said to Harry as they stood alone in an empty study, "then it should only take us a month or so to formulate and execute a strategy."

""Gin—" Harry tried, taking her hand. But she was determined.

"This is important, Harry."

"So is this," he whispered, cupping her cheek with his free hand and kissing her passionately on the mouth. A surge of pure energy ran through them—how wonderful to be able to kiss without the annoyance of special spells. They were more than a little aroused when he pulled away to breathe.

"Oh Harry," she moaned into his neck, feeling almost ashamed of her arousal when the whole world was such a terrible mess. But she couldn't deny him, she never could. In one fluid motion he lifted her onto the dusty old desk beside the door as he closed and locked it. His newly solid fingers crawled up her legs, sending intoxicating chills throughout her. As his fingers worked their way to the rim of her jeans, his teeth and tongue battled at her neck.

Fighting to remain lucid, Ginny dropped her arms from his neck and fumbled with his belt and sipper until she'd worked his pants around his ankles. Delicately she moved her fingertips across his waist, plunging down to take hold of him. She nearly gasped; he seemed larger than she remembered, than he'd been as a ghost. Gritting his teeth, Harry groaned into her ear, letting her know just how much he wanted her, how much he needed her.

"I love you," he breathed, covering her mouth with his. She yanked him forward with one hand while guiding him into her with the other. He filled her completely, her tight, hot walls contracting around him.

"Oh God!" she cried into his chest, digging her nails into his back as she pulled him closer in rhythm with his urgent thrusts. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she had to bite her lip to keep from screaming as he went even deeper. In that moment she didn't care about her family and friends in the other room, who could probably deduce where they'd gone. She had her husband back—alive and whole—and she damn well was going to enjoy it. Far too much time they're spent being apart.

"Merlin," Harry gasped as he collapsed into her arm, having never felt such an intense orgasm. Sweat coated their bodies in a thin layer, but they didn't mind. Soon their panting slowed to normal breathing, and Harry forced himself to let go of his wife. He bent down to retrieve her pants and underwear, then pulled his own on. He would have much rather stayed and held her for hours as they slept, but there were things to be done.

"We better get back out there. Dad's probably sick of watching Albus. He's been in a kicking phase for the past few weeks."

Harry's heart sank at the mention of their son. He'd missed so many things in his life; he couldn't wait to get home and live out a boring existence with him and Ginny when this war was finally over and Voldemort was gone.

"Voldemort's probably made more horcruxes," he said, instead of what he'd actually been thinking, as they walked into the hall. "That's one of the first things we'll need to discuss."

"Alright," she said, then kissed him on the cheek. "I love you too, by the way."

* * *

There was still plenty of night to spare by the time the three vampires returned. A heaviness coated the air as they entered the large, abandoned farm house. Everyone knew something happened during their meal, though no one even hinted that they would ask. Some things were better left a mystery.

Draco's eyes landed on Harry and Ginny, who were cozy on a tattered loveseat to his left. He smirked at Hermione, who sneered back. On their way in—about a ten minute walk away—he'd picked up intense emotional vibrations coming from the direction of the farmhouse. After a moment he realized what and who it was, and immediately made a bawdy comment to his companions, which they ignored.

"Hi everyone," Hermione said, giving as many people nods as she could in a few short seconds. "I apologize for the house, it's not mine." A warm laughter spread through the room; she could still be herself when she needed to be. It made her feel almost human again. "And I apologize in advance for the meeting. It will be long and grueling, but in the end—hopefully—worth it. I'm aware that Ginny and Harry have gone over some things with you. I'd like to add some points myself, then the floor is open, alright?"

Nods and murmurs resounded from the group of family and friends before her. She smiled, then launched into a ten minute speech about honor, discipline, courage, and good over evil. When she was finished the room went silent, then a sharp snicker pierced the air and all heads turned to glare at Draco Malfoy.

"Did you have something to say?" Hermione hissed, making it very obvious to everyone that it was not an invitation for him to speak, but a warning to remain quiet.

"Honor and courage?" he laughed, shaking his head. "Seriously, Hermione—" Everyone's ears, especially Ron's perked at his use of her first name; what did it mean? "—do you really think a tacky quasi-military pep talk is what these people need? This is Voldemort we're talking about. Evil beyond evil. Don't coat your words with honey." His voice was almost harsh, as if scolding a naughty child. And by now he was addressing the whole room, who, surprisingly, he had full attention of. "Tell the truth, because they damn well know it better than anyone. We're going to lose a lot of people. Murder, chaos, destruction, failure. That's what's waiting for them! And the smallest shred of hope that many—_many_—they can win this, because life can't be _that_ cruel, the world can't be_ that_ fucked. I'm sorry Miss Hotshot, but poetic words about the glories of triumph aren't going to cut it."

A silence deeper than before blanketed the room. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath, waiting for Hermione to speak, to react to his blatant insult. Instead, however, she nodded and said, "You're right." Then added, "Can we move on now?" just to show him she was still in charge and if he tried that move again he was going to pay.

* * *

There was maybe forty minutes before sunrise and the only place Hermione wanted to be was with Ron, who had been eying her all night. But when the meeting was over and everyone went their separate ways—some to bed, others to find food to eat, because they were all now living here and fighting the fight—she pulled Draco aside and asked to speak to him in private. She could almost hear Ron's hopes shatter and they slipped out of the house towards the fallout shelter.

Once secure in their underground "home", Hermione succumbed to her urges and lunged at him, taking him to the floor. Her urges, unfortunately for Draco, were to murder him. He clawed and grunted and shoved, but nothing could get her off him.

"What's your deal?" he breathed, swatting at her balled fists.

"My deal!" she cried, landing a punch in the side of his jaw. "My _deal_ is that you have _no right_ to give 'noble, heartfelt' speeches to _my_ friends and family! _You_ are the enemy and always will be, so keep to your boundaries. I will not be made a fool of."

"Why would I say all that crap if it wasn't true?"

"Because you need the protection," she bit back.

"Exactly. Making my words truer than anything I've ever said to you. Hermione," he sighed, looking directly at her. "The last thing I want is to be in Voldemort's presence, at his side. You heard him, saw how he looked at me. If I go back there I'm as good as dead. I _need_ you, and you need me. I can use my powers to help you, if you help me. How much more honest could I be?"

Her eyes narrowed, but try as she might she couldn't find anything false in his words. She placed her hands on either side of his head, to lift herself up and off him, but he had other plans. He wrapped his arms around her waist and roughing pulled her to him, giving her plenty of time to escape. Tonight, however, she was curious and charged.

Slowly he inched his face closer to hers, wanting her to both concede and revolt. Because he was of two minds as of late: his body and mind desperately wanted her, but his arrogance and upbringing forbade it. Banishing his misgivings, he placed a soft, gentle kiss on her lips. When she didn't resist, he inched open his mouth and grazed his extended fangs along her bottom lip, sending a frightening shiver through her. As much as she wanted to deny it, she was suddenly and completely turned on. Her heartbeat quickened and her arms closed around him as she stretched her neck to him. Taking her invitation, he ran his tongue over the pulsing vein in her throat. But before he drank of her, he needed to see her. He turned them over so he was now on top, his head almost spinning from the exhilaration of doing something so wrong and exciting. He placed both hands on her heaving chest, marveling at the smoothness of her skin as his fingertips grazed the exposed flesh her semi-lowcut shirt offered. He eyed the buttons of her top for a moment, then undid them with expert speed and efficiency. Next he unhooked and removed her lacy red bra, having to suppress a shudder at the perfection that was her naked breasts.

"Gorgeous," he whispered, then plunged his head down, taking one hard nipple between his teeth. As she squirmed beneath him, moaning softly, he bit down and welcomed her hot, salty blood into his mouth with the broken anticipation of a child on Christmas morning. She cried out in pleasure, involuntarily bucking her hips into his bulging groin. Perhaps vampires could make love after all. "Hermione," he purred into her ear, his lips still dripping blood from her rapidly healing chest.

"Ron," she answered, then opened her eyes and gasped in horror, scrambling away from him as if he were a psychopath with a knife. "Fuck!" she swore, climbing to her feet and pulling her clothes back on. Somehow she'd become completely stoic again, as if nothing had happened. Yet, if he looked hard enough, he could see the confusion and desire in her eyes. "That never happened," she stated, as if it were a fact. He understood: utter a word to Ron, or anyone else, and he was as good as crispy.

This was the moment that the sun completed its rise into the morning sky and the two sexually charged—and very unsatisfied—vampires turned towards their respective beds and slipped into the sleep of the dead.

* * *

Well I know this is short, my shortest chapter yet, but I wanted to post it anyway. I mean, someone _must_ be reading this story, otherwise there wouldn't be any views of it. I really hope people actually like it, because I'll never know, except for you few sincere, thanks-deserving reviewers. I really do appreciate any feedback. Any.

REVIEW!

P.S. The next chapter will return to the normal length. This was only because I felt it should end here, and also because I don't know when I'll be able to write more. Busy-ness and exhaustion can severely stunt the writing process.


	10. The Rebels

Recap:

Recap:

"Ron," she answered, then opened her eyes and gasped in horror, scrambling away from him as if he were a psychopath with a knife. "Fuck!" she swore, climbing to her feet and pulling her clothes back on. Somehow she'd become completely stoic again, as if nothing had happened. Yet, if he looked hard enough, he could see the confusion and desire in her eyes. "That never happened," she stated, as if it were a fact. He understood: utter a word to Ron, or anyone else, and he was as good as crispy.

This was the moment that the sun completed its rise into the morning sky and the two sexually charged—and very unsatisfied—vampires turned towards their respective beds and slipped into the sleep of the dead.

* * *

Chapter 10: The Rebels

Her eyes misted over as they settled on his weathered grave, depicting a woodland scene with a deer at damn, along with his name and dates. Four years he'd been gone, at the far-too-young age of twenty-one. He'd been older than her, but age never mattered, as they had loved each other with endless patience. But then the war happened, taking more than his life; it had tarnished her memory of him.

"Imogen."

She looked up as her older brother approached, thankful for the distraction from her sorrow. Four yeas and it still hurt as if it had only just happened. She could still hear his cringe-inducing laugh, still see the struggle in his once bright eyes. She would never know if his death had been due to guilt or heroism.

"Morning Hagan," she said, forcing a smile. Every now and then he would join her in mourning, though today was not one of those days. The look on his face read serious; he had important matters to discuss. "Isaac said he received an imploring message from a former Order member." Isaac was their cousin on their mother's side. Out of their entire immediate and extended family, only four had survived. Lane, Isaac's kid sister, married a stubborn man much too old for her right after the war and moved as far away as possible. They rarely spoke anymore.

"A former Order member?" Imogen asked, cocking her head to the side. They hadn't heard from them in years, mostly due to self-imposed isolation. "Who?"

"Hermione Granger."

She couldn't have stopped the gasp if she tried.

"But I thought—"

"Apparently there are a lot more survivors than we thought, and they're gathering, calling themselves 'the rebels'." He paused a moment, giving this time to sink in. It had been so long since they'd been around, or even had contact with, anyone who shared their views. "And they're asking anyone who is willing to come to their hideout tomorrow at dawn. And they ask if anyone knows any rebel vampires, werewolves, and the like who are sympathetic for us to pass along the invitation."

"Vampires? Werewolves? Are they desperate?"

"Seem so. Would Marianna be interested?" She was their muggle neighbor.

Imogen smiled and nodded.

"Those bastards made her a werewolf; she _needs_ revenge."

* * *

"Everyone quiet!" Hermione yelled over the rumbling voices of sixty-plus people. They were all frantic to know what was going on, and so she'd deliberately kept the living and the dead (or assumed dead) in separate rooms until they were calm and informed.

"We've been here over an hour," one man complained, the traumas of war written on his face. He'd been through his share of pain, but his impatience sent a surge of anger through her. "What's going on?"

"Excuse me," she said, smile coated with honey and sarcasm. "I apologize for any inconvenience, but it does take some time to organize a secret revolt."

This shut him up and he disappeared behind the crowd.

"Now that I've got your attention, I have to go over a few things before we get into particulars." She waited, giving them a chance to retort before continuing. "Now I'm sure many of you are curious about my message. Some of you are probably wondering why I would ask for vampires and werewolves in particular, considering they were our enemies during the war." A murmur swept through the room. "But also remember how poorly Voldemort treated them, how they hated him by the end. They want revenge the same as us. But also there are many who were on our side that were turned against their will, myself included." She batted her fangs to her audience, gaining a reasonable number of gasps. "There are many who are willing to fight along side you like myself. I ask you to leave now if this will be a problem." No one, not even the man in the back, spoke up or moved. "Alright, then I'll bring them out."

In another room, Seamus stood and went for the door, eager to get away from Draco and his mother. Not that they'd done anything, but just the thought of their past induced rage. Following Seamus was Sauda and Harry, then a group of forcefully-turned (but freed) vampires, then the slightly edgy werewolves (among them a small girl with blonde ringlets in a red velvet dress), then a band of ghost, poltergeists, changelings, and other creatures of the night, and finally in the back was Draco and Narcissa.

As they filed into the great room, anxiety gripped Draco's stomach. Every one of them had reason to loathe him, he only hoped they were civil enough to refrain from exploding into an angry mob. But as he stepped onto the old Oriental rug in the center of the floor, no one seemed to really notice him. And then he realized: all eyes were on Harry, who was supposed to be dead, having failed them all, plunging their world into darkness and chaos.

"Coward!" screamed a fifty-something woman at the front. The crowd began to pulse and Draco wondered again about a mob. Teeth clenched, eyes narrowed, and feet began to shuffle forward. They only made it about a foot, when Hermione and Ginny, along with several other Weasleys, jumped between them and Harry. Hermione let out a low, rumbling hiss, unsheathing her fangs as if she meant to feed on them.

"Step back," she demanded, leaving no room for questions. "If any of you think—even for a moment—that Harry would give any less than 100, then you're insane, and you can leave." Forcing herself to calm down, so not to scare anyone, she told the story of Harry's triumphant battle with Voldemort, how it ended and what became of him. By the end of her speech everyone's faces were sad and contemplative, instead of hot and seething. Of course he'd hidden, waiting for the right moment to attack; how could they have ever doubted him! "But now Voldemort knows he's still alive. We've lost the element of surprise, but I know we can still beat him!"

Applause erupted in the relatively small room, causing the vampires and werewolves to cringe at the volume.

"We are all to blame for what happened, because we all contributed to the war. But we have the power to right our failures. We will defeat him. We will reclaim our lives!"

Another thunderous chorus rang through the air, and this time they were prepared, shoving their fingers in their ears.

"Alright, now we can begin. We'll need four groups: communication and intelligence, decoys, infantry, and undercover. I will head communications and intelligence, Seamus will have the decoys, Harry is infantry, and Benjamin—" She pointed at Benjamin Black. "—will take the undercovers. I may need to subdivide or add new groups alter, but for now it's these four. Choose a group and go to your representative. I ask that those who are…more familiar with Voldemort's ways or the Dark Arts in general to join the undercovers. This will make things easier. Also, I ask that everyone—no matter what group you decide on—helps to recruit more for the cause. Anyone is welcome, so long as their ultimate goal is to rid the world of Voldemort and his dark ideas. Alright!" She clapped her hands and gestured to herself and her three other 'generals'. "Break up."

Tentatively the people began to break apart and went to their chosen group. Most of the "creatures of the night", as Hermione referred to them in her head, went either to Seamus and the decoys or Benjamin and the undercovers, rightly using their unwanted skills for the purpose of good. One small girl, perhaps seventeen at most, scurried into the mass of bodies that consisted of Harry's infantry soldiers, her silky blonde curls flowing behind her. She could have blended in as a normal girl, if not for the multitude of scraps and scars on her face, arms, and legs and the blurry, yellowish appearance of her eyes. She had been a werewolf for many years, her revenge simmering like a hot stew.

Hermione tore her eyes away from the girl, opting to not pity her, for she'd probably had enough of that in her short life to last the rest of it. She watched the rebels as they divided into four groups, some taking a bit longer than others. Harry, Ginny, Sauda and Mr. Weasley all took it upon themselves to aid the others in their decision, asking questions such as: "What are your strengths and weaknesses?" or "What do you wish to gain from this war?" or "What do you have at stake?" She was incredibly proud of, and incredibly moved by, their conviction to her cause. And, soon enough, everyone had settled into their respective groups and a shaky silence descended.

"Now that everyone is in a group, we can break up and go into separate rooms, where each of your group commanders will instruct you. Of course all opinions and suggestions are welcome, so feel free to contribute. But remember," she added, narrowing her eyes slightly, "your commanding officer is who you answer to. Without organization we cannot win this war. If, at any time, this is a problem then you are welcome to leave, no questions asked. Our goal is not to suppress and command you, but order is needed and must be upheld, at least for the duration of this war. Is that clear?" Nods all around told her they would comply. "Ok then. I leave it to the commanding officers to guide your groups."

* * *

It was close to four in the morning by the time everyone was finished and ready for bed. Most of the rebels decided to stay, at least for the night, in the farm house. Some went home and would be back two nights later when they held the next meeting. Everyone had an assignment, both for the whole organization and the individuals. Recruitment was key and everyone was responsible for this. Other jobs, better suited for some than others, were assigned separately as each commander spoke to everyone individually. It was long and tedious, but by the end everyone was fairly satisfying with the results, their spirits high.

Everyone, that is, except for Hermione, who sat on an old tree stump in the backyard, her eyes blindly staring into the deep black forest before her. She had betrayed Ron, the only man she ever loved or wanted to love. And for what? Sex? She was better than that, had more self control. Or so she'd thought. Perhaps Draco was right, perhaps the blood was the cause of it. He was the only male she'd turned that she'd forced to stay with her. And why had she done that? Turning him could have been revenge enough, for that was the extent of his wrongdoing. And then she'd also turned his mother, killed his father, and taken her vengeance out on a countless number of his family and friends. She'd taken her revenge ten times over, and still it wasn't enough, still she had to something to prove. And that something had been her love for Ron, which she denied him and herself for the sake of her morals. She loved him too much to turn him, and being around him as a human was simply too hard. But what did that mean now, after what had occurred with Draco? Was her vengeance for nothing? Certainly she didn't deserve Ron's love anymore, and she knew he would agree. Even the small amount of affection—if it could be called that—towards Draco was unforgivable. He was the reason they could never be together, the reason for their pain, and for her betrayal.

With a heavy sigh, she forced herself to rise and go inside. There were many things she needed to discuss with Harry, Seamus and Benjamin before sunrise.

* * *

"You look as miserable as I do."

Ron gave a start, making it clear that he hadn't heard anyone coming. He composed himself quickly enough, then turned and laid eyes on the owner of the voice. He recognized her from the meeting, knowing that she was a veteran of the war, having fought for them in Ireland with her family and friends. Her heavy, and very lovely, Irish accent sent a startling shiver through him. But there wasn't only Irish blood in her veins, that much was clear by her complexion. She had creamy, flawless milk chocolate skin and dark green, almost black, eyes. Her tightly curled blue-black hair was pulled back from her face, a few wisps having escaped to dance on her forehead. No makeup marred her features, accentuating her natural beauty. Her eyes might have appeared too large for her small, dainty face, but Ron found this endearing and he smiled at her.

"Hi," he said, recovering from the initial shock of being snuck up on. He offered her his hand. "I'm Ron."

"I know who you are," she replied, shaking his hand. "I mean, everyone knows Ron Weasley." He braced himself; "best friend of the great Harry Potter" always came next. But he was pleasantly surprised, however, she instead she said, "The Battle of Pinebough Brook? Saving Harry Potter's life in Sheffield? Then saving your sister Ginny a few days later in Watford? You're a living legend. I could only hope to be half the hero you are at the end of this all."

Her words were so flattering, and spoken with such honesty, that he suddenly blushed, having to turn away and pretend to swat a fly on his arm.

"I'm Imogen, by the way," she offered, tilting her head down to look him in the eye. "I came here with my big brother Hagan and our cousin Isaac, the rusky tall fellow with one eye and no hair." Ron remember Isaac, having stood next to him during the communication and intelligence meeting.

"Didn't you also bring the little werewolf girl?" he asked, having just remembered. "Marianna?"

Imogen's face darkened at the mention of her name.

"I—" He went to apologize, but she reached out and took his hand, sending another shiver through him. What was with him today?

"Sorry, it's me. I can get emotional about her. She's like a sister. I want revenge for her condition as much as she does."

"I understand." And he completely did. "What did you mean before?" he asked as they took a seat on a large boulder in the front yard. It was three o'clock in the afternoon, the sun shining bright and round in the clear blue sky. He wasn't even thinking of Hermione, buried below the earth with his enemy, never able to enough the simplicity of an afternoon in the sun. "About being miserable, I mean. Aside from the usual, you seem fine."

"I'm very deceiving," she teased, pinching his arm. He playfully pretended that it hurt, then pulled away, as if flirting with this girl was wrong. She took notice, but ignored it. She knew all about his former relationship with Hermione Granger. One look at the two of them and it was obvious that fate at torn them apart, casting her into the shadows. "I think we have similar troubles," she continued, suddenly serious. "You see, four years ago I lost someone very important to me. His name was Raja Nnomb, and he was the only man I ever loved." She paused, looking at her shoes, as she tried to force herself not to cry. "He was subjected to the Imperius Curse and it cost him his life. For nearly a year he suffered the whims of Voldemort's cronies, doing unspeakable things to too many good people. In the end," she sighed, sniffling slightly, "he tried to overcome the curse, and failed. He…he took his own life shortly after, in what I believe was an attempt to prevent causing anymore pain." When she finished her voice was small and soft, her eyes misty with tears. She still loved him now as much as she had years before, the same as Ron loved Hermione.

"I'm very sorry," he said, putting his arm around her shoulder. And this time when the chills climbed his arms and legs, he knew the feeling. He was attracted to this girl, several years his junior. He hadn't even thought of, let alone looked at, another woman since he'd loved and lost Hermione. In his newfound attraction he felt an odd mixture of shame, guilt, curiosity and fear. He didn't understand how he could be in love with Hermione and yet still be attracted to Imogen. But then Hermione wasn't the Hermione he'd always known. Her trials had carved her a new path in the world, one full of darkness, revenge and pain. She'd isolated herself from all those who she loved and who loved her, and now that she was surrounded by her peers again, her true nature was showing through. She was determined to the point of foolishness. And she was ever so slowly slipping away.

"Don't be," Imogen whispered, turning her head so their faces were inches apart. "I lost Raja long before he died. I've lived for years with the pain and the aftermath of the war only added to it. But now, with the work we're doing, with this new war, I can finally let go." She inched close to him and they both stopped breathing for a moment, counting the seconds like hours. Then, very quickly, she kissed him on the cheek, stood up, and ran back into the house.

"Shit," Ron sighed, touching the hot flesh of his cheek where her lips were. This was going to do some serious damage to his already fragile psychological state. After a moment he composed himself and stood to go inside, hoping Harry could spare a few minutes to help him straighten his own thoughts out.

* * *

So that one was interesting, I must say. Not too much with Hermione and Draco themselves, but I've laid a little groundwork. Hopefully everyone liked it and will continue to read and find out where I'm going with this.

REVIEW! and I might just be encouraged to update faster :P


	11. Desperate Redemption

Recap:

"Don't be," Imogen whispered, turning her head so their faces were inches apart. "I lost Raja long before he died. I've lived for years with the pain and the aftermath of the war only added to it. But now, with the work we're doing, with this new war, I can finally let go." She inched close to him and they both stopped breathing for a moment, counting the seconds like hours. Then, very quickly, she kissed him on the cheek, stood up, and ran back into the house.

"Shit," Ron sighed, touching the hot flesh of his cheek where her lips were. This was going to do some serious damage to his already fragile psychological state. After a moment he composed himself and stood to go inside, hoping Harry could spare a few minutes to help him straighten his own thoughts out.

* * *

Chapter 11: Desperate Redemption

Eyes lingering on a cluster of prancing fireflies, Hermione absently sank her fangs into her bottom lip, retracted them, allowing the blood to well and touch her tongue, waited a moment for the wound to heal, then repeated the same motions, as if in a trance. It was a nervous, habitual action that she'd developed as a vampire. Rational thought told her to remain mature and dignified, to resist the instinct to get angry. But—as a blood-thirsty member of the undead—she was fueled by instincts, and therefore could not ignore them. Instincts, however, had already driven her deep within herself, into a life of seclusion and revenge. Any rational thinking always came later, after a detrimental action, after an avoidable fight. But, staring out into the forest layered in shades of darkness, she couldn't completely disregard what her mind was telling her.

Earlier that evening, just after the meeting and distribution of assignments, Hermione—unable to help herself—eavesdropped on a conversation between Ron and an Irish war veteran named Imogen. They had been standing across the room, hidden behind several rows of other people, and yet their words were the only ones she could hear.

"Does your assignment take you very far?" Imgoen had asked, her meaning clear. She didn't want to be apart from him.

"Not particularly, and I have to come back often anyway."

Hermione's ears had perked at his choice of words, her face reddening with rage. He was speaking in a deliberate way, trying to sound intelligent rather than colloquial. He was flirting with her! After such a blow to her ego, Hermione had retreated to her shelter in the earth to sulk, only to be interrupted moments later by Harry, who followed her there.

"You rushed out of there in a hurry tonight," he opened with. "Did—"

"Is something going on between Ron and that Imogen girl?" she blurted out, seething. Harry's face became stiff and guarded at once. She understood; it was difficult for him to have such tragic best friends, and she did sympathize with him, only her emotions prevented her from acknowledging it at the moment.

"Yes," he answered bluntly. "They're taken a liking to each other. They…share similar pasts."

"Such as?"

With a weighty sigh, Harry explained about Raja and his demise, emphasizing the parallel between their fallen love story and hers with Ron. The comparison, however, fell on deaf ears.

"There's one key difference you're neglecting," she bit.

"What?"

"I'm still here! I may be dead, but I'm still around and he had the audacity—What are you smirking about!"

"You," he laughed, a tinge of sadness in his voice. "So determined, yet so lost."

"Explain," she hissed, as if he were one of her lacky minions.

"You're as in love with him as you've always been, yet your morals prevent you from being with him. Essentially you want him to see your love as dead, to see you as dead and therefore not to pursue you. But, at the same time, you clearly don't want him to be with anyone else, taking away his chance at happiness. Now I told Ron you would want him to be happy. Did I misinform him? Do you actually want him to be as miserable as you're determined to be?"

Hermione's heart dropped and she slumped forward.

"You're right," she moaned, biting her lip. "But—Oh Harry! How can I see him with _her_ and not say anything? Not be angry? He…he's supposed to love me."

"And he does. Do you have any idea how hard this is for him?" Hermione sneered, as if to contradict him. "I'm serious. It's killing him. He still loves you as much as you love him. His attraction to Imogen in no way diminishes what he will _always_ feel for you. Now I can't stop you from confronting him, but I can ask that you be fair. You did push him away, deny him any chance to be with you. You can't be both noble and jealous."

They'd exchanged a few more words, then Harry excused himself to some important revolutionary business. Hermione promised to consider his suggestions, but right now, as she sat and thought, she couldn't help but revert back to anger. How could he claim he loved her while at the same time he was flirting with that girl? True, Harry had mentioned an internal conflict in Ron, but his outward actions made his decision appear easy. He hadn't even looked at her in several long days, preferring solitude or, Hermione now knew, _her_ company. Would he then grow to love Imogen, casting her by the wayside? And, if he did, what could she possibly say or do? Harry was right, she had shunned him and his love. But what she hadn't expected was for his love to wane. So devoted had he always been, she foolishly believed he would always remain, despite her denial.

Intaking a deep, painful breath she stood and made for the house, intent on speaking to Ron in a friendly, civilized manner. She did love him after all and owed him gentle understanding as he so selflessly gave her for so many years.

Her spirits were surprisingly high as she crossed the threshold, energized by the prospect of doing good after so much unintentional evil. There were dozens of lingering rebels scattered about the farmhouse, deep in discussion of the all-out war they planned to launch by the end of the month. Her eyes scanned their excited faced, looking for the most familiar one. When she failed to locate him, she asked Imogen's brother where his sister might be.

"I saw her leave with Ron Weasley about an hour ago," Hagan replied, smiling. It's so nice to see her happy after so much pain." Hermione's heart clenched and she suppressed a sneer as she thanked him and moved on, her former elation completely evaporated by what should have been a good thing. She didn't wish any ill towards Ron or Imogen, but—at the same time—she couldn't stand the idea of seeing them happy together when she had failed so miserably at it.

"Dinner?"

Hermione turned sharply on her heels, unable to frown, having been startled out of her thoughts. Draco gave her a sly grin, motioning with a curled finger for her to follow him out the door. Taking her time, she met him on the porch, unable to ignore the alluring quality of his pale features in the brilliant moonlight. Despite everything about him, he was still an attractive man.

"If you brought me out here—"

"Don't be so hostile," he laughed, stepping onto the lawn. "I'm thirsting, as I'm sure you are. I only wanted to enjoy a meal."

"Enjoy? I can think of a million people I'd rather _enjoy_ killing others with. Sauda, in fact, has not yet eaten. Why would I choose to hunt in your company rather than hers?"

"I never asked you to make a choice, Hermione. You're the one who insists on being so rigid about everything. If we have to spend eternity together, what's the use in being miserable?" She opened her mouth to speak, but he rushed to continue. "I know _I_ am supposed to be miserable, that's my punishment. But at the cost of _your_ happiness? That doesn't seem like part of your big plan. I'm your slave for as long as you say so, for eternity if you wish. My existence is completely up to you. Now you can be bitter and vengeful and you wouldn't be wrong in doing so. But don't you also want to enjoy your life? I know I'm not supposed to be the one telling you this, it should be someone who actually cares about your well-being, but considering the fact that _my _well-being is linked directly to yours, I'm taking it upon myself to tell you this."

"This is so fucked up," she growled, then dropped from the porch onto the ground and led the way to go feed, very aware of the huge smile plastered on Draco's face.

* * *

Hermione found her scribbling away on a scrap of parchment in what was once a drawing room. Her fine black tendrils of hair sparkled like tinsel in the hazy lamplight, her head bowed in concentration. Hidden beneath baggy pajama pants and a bulky sweater was a slender, living body, pulsing with sweet, rich blood.

"Can I have a word with you?"

Imogen's big dark green eyes flashed up, unstartled. She knew Hermuone had been standing there; perhaps she'd even anticipated this conversation.

"Of course." She set down her quill, giving her full attention.

"Now I know it wasn't your intention—from what I've seen you're a perfectly nice girl—but…well, your relationship with Ron Weasley is…hard for me to swallow." Hermione had been working on this little introduction for hours, trying to sound humble, yet authoritative, hence the use of the word "girl" rather than "woman". She didn't know how old she was, but something in her manner hinted at premature adulthood—she'd grown up too fast, her experiences uneven with her age. "I'm not going to go into details—"

"I know."

"You know what?"

"The details."

"You…you knew about us?" Anger began to boil in her gut. Perhaps she wasn't the innocent little victim she wanted everyone to think she was.

"Please don't do this," Imogen whispered, her expression reflecting true concern and sympathy. "And I don't try to appear innocent."

"So you practice Legilimens." It was not a question.

"I mastered it in the years Raja was under the Imperius Curse. It was the only way I could be sure his actions were not his intentions. Even then it was difficult to believe and witness."

"You know Ron and my struggle, yet you're pursuing him anyway?" It was the hardest thing to keep her voice low and steady.

"Look," Imogen sighed, folding her hands in her lap. "I admire you. I followed stories about you throughout the war; it's what gave me strength. The last thing I'd wish to do was intentionally hurt or anger you."

"But?"

Imogen's nose twitched in apparent agitation. She had never wanted to have this discussion.

"I'm not going to stop seeing Ron because you don't want me to. Because you don't want _anyone_ to. He needs to move on, to start a life without you at the center of it. By your own edict, you and him can never be together."

"And how do you know what Ron wants or needs?" By now she'd dropped all semblances of pleasantries. This girl was a threat and must be stopped.

"Because he's told me, dozens of times. He can't have you, he's starting to accept that. Don't make it harder for him."

"How long have you known Ron?"

"Herm—"

"How long!"

"We've only just formally met."

"Then you couldn't possibly know him, and you certainly don't understand the complexities of our relationship. We have been in love since before you were even thinking about boys."

"How young do you think I am?" Anger was beginning to seep into Imogen's voice. She was not one to be cornered, and would do anything to win. It was the main reason she survived the war. "I've been through hell and back with Raja. I know love and I know pain, and I know when to move on. My age has nothing to do with my level of experience."

"I never questioned your _experience_."

Imogen's eyes shot wide open and her fists clenched. Slowly she climbed to her feet, measuring her breaths.

"I don't appreciate your insinuations or your unprofessional behavior. Don't you have better things to worry about than who your _ex_ is interested in?"  
"You have no idea," Hermione seethed, having to forcibly keep her fangs from descending. "The love of your life is _dead_! You don't have to deal with seeing him betray you—"

"That's enough!"

Both angry women turned to find the object of their affection standing rigidly in the doorway.

"I can't believe this," Ron hissed, pointing a shaky finger at Hermione.

"Me?"

"Don't you _dare_ start with me. I have been patient with you for too long. It's _you_ who betrayed _me_, sacrificing our love for your own piece of mind. And you know what? I'm finally coming to terms with that, because that's what _you_ wanted. It was your choice. And now you dare to judge me on _my_ choices? As if I had a say in the matter. I'm moving on, Hermione," he said, coming in the room to stand beside Imogen. "It's time you did the same." Taking Imogen's hand, he pulled her to him, pressing his lips to hers in their first real kiss.

"I thought I meant something to you," Hermione whispered, backing out of the room.

Ron turned to face her—still clasping Imogen's hands—his eyes reflecting both anger and sorrow. This was killing him, but it had to be done.

"You _did_."

* * *

Draco paced in his underground lair, contemplating the best way to sell his plan to Benjamin Black. He needed someone willing to drink Polyjuice Potion and pretend to be him, which came with considerable risks. But, in order for the plan to work, he needed a decoy. Just as his thoughts were beginning to come together, the overhead door slammed open and Hermione came trampling down the stairs. Mumbling under her breath, she didn't notice Draco for a full two minutes. And, as soon as her eyes landed on him, she burst into tears and collapsed on the floor. He allowed her to sob for an extended period of time, then lifted her up and carried her to her newly acquired coffin, which he noted was almost identical to his and not a lavish display of power as he'd previously thought.

She slipped into the satin-lined box easily enough, but when it came time for him to leave, her arm shot out and dragged him in with her. Before he could protest she was on top of him, tearing at his shirt to reach the milk white flesh beneath. Without uttering a word, she sank her teeth into his neck, hurtling them both into orgasmic spasms. Clumsily—for neither had been with another since they were turned and therefore were unsure of the protocol—they pulled off each other's clothing, giving nips and bites here and there in aggressive anticipation.

Tentatively, Draco reached between her legs that straddled him, not entirely surprised to find blood on his fingers. Not the thick blood of a menstrual period, but the smooth blood of a fresh wound, diluted to a creamy pink. Smirking, he licked his fingers, nearly severing his pinky in his excitement.

"Tell me you want me," she breathed, arching her back.

His finger flicked over her clitoris, sending shivers through her as she sat atop him.

"I want you. Merlin, I want you," he groaned, then slid his blood-hardened member deep within her. Every muscle in his body tensed: already it was the best sex of his life, and they'd only just begun.

Thrust after thrust brought each of them close to climax. Draco's strong hands reached out to grab her soft, yet firm, waist, guiding her motions. Slowly one of his hands climbed up her stomach to clasp a plump, bouncing breast. He kneaded and stroked the flesh, pinched and twisted the hard, straining nipple. A fiery heat began to rise between them, gradually building to release.

"D…Draco," she moaned as tingles prickled her cold white skin. Suddenly she grabbed his hand and sank her fangs into the taught flesh of his wrist, rocking them both over the edge to climax.

Panting, Hermione collapsed onto him with him still inside her.

"Wow," she breathed, still reeling. "I—"

"It's _never_ been that good," Draco interrupted, kissing her on the forehead. Sensations still crawling over him—coupled with the memory of her saying his name—caused Draco to become immediately aroused again. Feeling him harden inside her, Hermione lifted her head and smiled.

"Once more before sun up?"  
"You read my mind," he laughed, pulling her to him with fevered passion.

* * *

Well there you have it. Chapter 11, and Chapter 12 is already started. Not sure where I'm going with this from now on. I only have a rough sketch, but it always comes together in the end.

REVIEW!! Please 


	12. Assessments

Recap:

"Once more before sun up?"

"You read my mind," he laughed, pulling her to him with fevered passion.

* * *

Chapter 12: Assessments

"What happened between you and Hermione?"

Imogen's eyes dropped to the floor, suddenly feeling awkward and shy. Ron only smiled; she was adorable.

"She wanted to talk to me, and I knew it was about you…I tried to remain civil with her, but—Oh Ron! It's like talking to a wall. I don't remember stories of her portraying her that way. Perhaps the blood—"

"These past years have been hard on her. I'm not justifying her actions, she was completely out of like, but she also hasn't been herself in a long time."

"I admire her, I truly do. But I simply can't take insults. She thinks I'm a child, but a threat. I don't follow her logic."

Ron laughed, nodding.

"I've been dealing with this issue for a long time. Even before we were involved she was always stubborn and headstrong. Great qualities for a military leader, terrible for an ex." As he said this his eyes widened in enlightenment.

"What?"

"I've never referred to her as my ex before…I guess it's a sign of progress."

Imogen smiled, hoping his revelation would ultimately bring them closer.

"I have you to thank for that," he said with a smirk, taking her hand. "Come on, let's go watch the sunrise."

* * *

"How can I ask someone to do that?" Benjamin Black sighed, rolling Draco's proposal back up and handing it to him. "You're not even part of my Undercovers. Your involvement is solely decided by Hermione. Did you even show her this?"

Draco's fists clenched at his sides in an attempt to fight back a retort. It was Hermione's fault he was unprepared for this meeting, having interrupted him with her seduction. Her fault also that he could not choose where to participate, if at all. She hadn't even spoken to him since before they fell asleep. At dusk he'd awoken to an empty coffin. Later, when he tried to approach her in the house, she brushed him off to field questions from her Intelligence and Communications soldiers. Did no one understand that this was the only way for him to redeem himself? To become a legend or hero of war to the rebels where he'd failed so miserably with the Death Eaters?

"I can't even consider doing such a thing without her approval, and you should not have either. Her being extremely busy as of late is not a green light for you to do what you want. She'd still—"

"My master," he groaned. "I know."

"Look Draco, I know what it's like to be trapped in a world of restrictions, I'm a Black. Our family treated us as little more than slaves. Pampered and rich, but still slaves. To oppose family doctrine was to be shunned. You proved that when you discovered I was a spy for the former Order…What I'm getting at is I feel for you. You're family and, despite your upbringing, you're finally beginning to see the world as it really is." Reaching out, Benjamin took back the scroll and stood up from his make-shift desk. "I'll talk to Hermione, see if some agreement can't be reached. There must be someone as willing as you to take risks."

"What's this about risks?"

The estranged family members turned to find Hermione standing behind them, a quill behind her ear and a stack of parchment in her arms.

"Just with witch I was looking for," Benjamin said warmly. "Draco, would you excuse us for a moment?"

"Certainly," he replied with an exaggerated smile. "I need to go feed anyway." His eyes locked with Hermione's. "Low on blood for some reason."

As he stepped outside into the moonlight, he caught sight of a fellow creature of the night departing to feed as well. His name was Kuhn-tun Baar, and he'd been a vampire since the beginning. If there was anyone who could give him answers, it was Kuhn-tun.

"Answers are better achieved through experience," the ancient vampire said as Draco approached, slowing down enough for them to walk together. They'd had brief interactions in the past, but never any real conversations.

"Experience takes time, which I don't have," Draco bit back. He loathed is mind being read, almost as much as he loathed authority. "If you're on our side then surely you would agreed that we all must be fully equipped for the war."

"I'm not entirely sure you know what side you're even on."

"True I have no choice in the matter," Draco ground out, gritting his teeth, "but I've accepted that and I'm working towards my own ends."

"You must work for the group, and for your master."

"And what of your master, old man?"

Kuhn-tun laughed under his breath, shaking his head in amusement. Draco might have laughed too, were he able to find anything humorous at the moment, for Kuhn-tun Baar—though ancient and worldly—possessed the body of an eight-year-old boy. It was amazing when listening to his deep, cultured voice how easy it was to forget his appearance.

"Lord Voldemort is my current master," he finally answered. "It is so easy to believe a vampire as old as I am has forsaken mortals."

"You have no master then?"

Kuhn-tun nodded, smiling. If he'd wanted to get into particulars, he would have.

"Do you feed on innocents?"

"Everyone has the potential to commit evil, Draco. If you wait long enough you'll see more often than not humans succumb to evil impulses eventually, for any number of reasons. Those few souls who remain clean deserve to live. It's basic logic. Your eagerness suggests you had not considered this."

"I was raised in a world—"

"You're free of that world!" Kuhn-tun suddenly stopped, frustration apparent in his manner. "You may not be able to act on your own free will, but you damn well can think for yourself. Open your eyes, Draco, and, for the first time in your life, just live."

"Just live?" Draco scoffed, continuing on towards town. "Is that your advice for me? I have an eternity to live. What matters now is this war, and how to win it."

"And if you've chosen the right side?" Kuhn-tun asked, following him.

"I haven't a choice! We've been through this."

"What side you fight for is not necessarily which side you are on, Draco. When the world fell apart in the last war, you were so sure you had chosen the right side, the winning side. But now you're here, making plans and being a good soldier…but you still worry you've chosen wrong, that in the end you will not triumph."

"Is there more?" He honestly didn't know. True his convictions had swayed, but had he really changed? Most would say not, that he was the same greedy, pig-headed Syltherin he'd been raised to be. Glory was his all-encompassing goal, and always had been. But what else could he hope to achieve that compared?

"To do good for the sake of others. To do good for the sake of doing good! That is all life can be and still be worth something."

"Is that what you learned in your millennia?" Draco sighed, slowing to a steady walk as they came to the city, heavy with the smell of human blood.

"Had I the chance to live all over again, it would be the only lesson I would strive for."

"And your 'master'? What of the evil tasks he assigns you? Can you justify doing evil if your ultimate goal is good?"

"Sacrifices must be made in the pursuit of one's ideals."

"Your ideals," Draco corrected, unable to concentrate on the hunt while his mind was bloated with thought. "We are two creatures, bound by fate, and alike in all ways but one."

"And what would that be?"

Draco took several steps away from Kuhn-tun, his back to the ancient vampire, his sense alive. He was so good at being led, he didn't know if he ever could do the leading. He felt awkward even standing ahead of another person. But to win this war, to be the man he wanted to be at the end, that took strength, the kind of strength born of leaders. Could he possibly pull it off?

"You have so much distance from the world you hope to make good that you can't see how naïve and ignorant you are. You know everything, yet you experience nothing. You are a library of untouched books, for in all your noble talk of good you are selfish and full of desire. The difference between us," Draco said, looking over his shoulder, "is that I know this, I _live_ this, and yet I am unaffected by it."

"If you truly believe that," Kuhn-tun said, his voice tinged with sympathy, "then you are blind—" He placed a hand on Draco's elbow, as high as he could reach. "—because I see you and I see _her_ and I _know_ she has affected you."

Without waiting for a response Kuhn-tun continued into town, a victim already on his radar. Draco, however, had lost his appetite. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps his relationship with Hermione was affecting him negatively. Before he'd seen it as a nuisance, a way to get under her skin. It was a sexual game, a release of frustration. But now she was beginning to affect his decisions, his way of thinking, his way of life, and he could not let that happen.

* * *

Draco tilted his head to the side, eyeing Hermione with apparent great interest. They'd been sitting in her "office" for nearly five minutes and neither had said a word.

"What's wrong?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"You're acting strange."

"I'm acting normal," she countered.

"Exactly. You should be acting strange."

"And why should I be acting strange?" she sighed, rolling her eyes. She had brought him in here for a meeting, have discussed his proposal with Benjamin at length. Overall it was a good idea and showed his commitment, albeit forced, to the cause.

"A great upheaval has occurred in your life, and yet you go about business as usual."

"I would think that was a good thing," she said, neither confirming nor denying his observations, agitating him further. Only an hour ago he'd been talking with Kuhn-tun Baar, the memory of their conversation burned into his memory. He was confused, on edge, and ready for confrontation. The fact that she was not, and didn't appear concerned with their situation, infuriated him.

"It doesn't bother you that we fucked like bunnies in your coffin?"

"Not particularly. But I thought you had other matters you wanted to discuss? Or did you never truly plan to go through with your proposal?"

"I'd rather discuss—"

"That won't happen, so I suggest you start talking, or I'll channel my energy to other important matters. We're on the verge of another war, Draco, petty things like sex are not my concern."

"Is that why you confronted that little Irish girl?"

For the first time during their meeting Hermione showed signs of emotion other than passivity. The anger quickly passed, however, and she gave a stiff smile, gesturing towards the scroll Benjamin had given her from Draco.

"Do you want my cooperation or not?" she asked. "Because I have a line of rebels in need of my assistance. I'm only formally meeting with you out of respect, and because it was a good idea."

"Very well," he sighed, crossing his arms rigidly over his chest. He would concede for now, but only because equally important matters were on the table. Later, in their lair, she would not be able to avoid him. "Can I have the mission or not?"

"Yes."

His eyes widened in shock.

"Did you think I would deny you simply because you are you? I'm a better strategist than that. If you can find someone willing to carry out your plan with you, then I see no reason to say no. It will glean valuable information and, as an added bonus, you'll be gone and we'll both get a breather from one another. How long do you plan to be undercover?"

"As long as it takes."

"When do you plan to leave?"  
"As soon as I can brew Polyjuice Potion and find a partner."

"Good." She made a mark on one of the many piece of parchment before her. "Keep me updated. And remember to keep a low profile. You cannot afford to make mistakes. It isn't only your life that's at risk with this."

Draco nodded sarcastically. Of course he understood what she was saying. He'd considered all this before, only was unable to articulate it to Benjamin earlier.

"You can go now."

He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off.

"We'll discuss your _other_ problem later," she said, not looking up from her papers. "But I assure you, there isn't much to say."

* * *

Hermione, Harry, Seamus and Benjamin all sat around a small dining room table, piled high with books, parchment, and (for Harry and Benjamin) empty plates covered in crumbs. They'd been working tirelessly for hours on their plans, formulating strategies and choosing the best possible candidate to execute them. It was hard, exhausting work, but it was worth it.

"Have you given Draco's proposal any thought?" Benjamin asked casually, his eyes on his papers, his quill flicking away.

"Uh huh," Hermione answered, just as casually, her nose buried in a book. "I decided to let him do it, granted he follows my rules."

"Of course."

"I think it'll be good for him to get out of here, to do some real work for a good cause."

"I agree. When does he leave?"

"As soon as he can."

Harry and Seamus watched as the pair exchanged words, puzzled at their conversation.

"What's going on?" Harry asked, setting down his work. "What assignment are you giving Malfoy? I thought you decided to keep him close to you."

Hermione's manner shifted ever so slightly. Thankfully it went unnoticed to the others. Because that was the problem. She and Draco were getting _too close_, and that was one of the main reasons she'd agreed to grant his request. She knew it was an unprofessional way to make decisions, especially when their lives would be in danger, but then again it had been a good idea, and if it was executed correctly it would be very useful. She only hoped that he didn't screw it up.

"If I don't give me a little room he'll lash out. It's happened before, with him and with the others. I'm trying to learn from my mistakes, Harry."

"What does this mission of his entail?"

"Plainly, he wants another person to pretend to be him using Polyjuice Potion. They will infiltrate Voldemort's compound, his partner going first, as him. Draco will then be granted access to the compound by his partner, disguised as a Death Eater whose hair he will find once inside and will be free to roam around collecting tangible information, while his pseudo self will collect verbal information."

"And just how will he pull that off?" Harry demanded angrily. "Last I knew, Draco wasn't his pet anymore."

"The mission does come with considerable risks. If both parties are willing, then I see no reason to stop them."

"Why doesn't Draco confront Voldemort himself, and then look around once he's won him over again?"

"Because he'll be watched closely, Harry, and that's what he needs a decoy for. Draco can go places freely, while the other Draco is being watched. He'll never be suspected, and therefore can be used again in similar missions."

Harry's shoulders slumped and he sighed loudly.

"He better not screw this up."

"He won't," Hermione said, hoping against all odds that he truly could pull it off. Perhaps he was beginning to affect her too.

* * *

So there's chapter 12. I hope everyone liked it, and, to show your support, you can submit a review and tell me what you think. Suggestions are always welcome, as well as critique and praise (just kidding, haha).

REVIEW!

Next time: How will they ever come together?


	13. There Are No Innocents

Recap:

"He better not screw this up."

"He won't," Hermione said, hoping against all odds that he truly could pull it off. Perhaps he was beginning to affect her too.

* * *

Chapter 13: There Are No Innocents

Hermione walked down into her and Draco's underground hideaway, her arms loaded with scrolls, a quill tucked casually behind one ear. She walked right past him, sitting in a mostly comfortable chair reading a book, to deposit the scrolls into her coffin that she would later sort out, leaving out the one she needed, which she took over to Draco, extending it to him.

"What's this?"

"Your assignment in words, as well as a contract at the end, stating that you will perform to the best of your ability, blah, blah."

"You're really going to let me do this?" he asked, hesitantly taking the scroll, his voice cold and arrogant. He thought for sure she was going to go back on her word, or at least draw it out until he lost hope and forgot about it. Her eagerness to get him involved in her affairs was startling.

"Don't sound so surprised," Hermione warned. "I've been letting your bad behavior slide as of late." He rolled his eyes; he'd heard the same talk from Benjamin earlier. "At the end of the night you still answer to me. I may have been busy as of late, but my lack of attention does not signify a lack of awareness. I know everything you do and say, so I suggest you take greater care to act accordingly."

"And if I choose to defy you?" he countered, standing up.

"Was your starvation not recent enough?" she threatened, pulling back her lips. "Should I now add the sun to the equation? Would that force obedience?"

"And just how would you do that? You can't very well go outside in the day either."

A broad smile stretched across her face."

"What?"

"Did you forget about Harry? Or do you choose to ignore his willingness to help me punish you?"

Draco's smile melted to a deeply carved frown. Of course that puppet would do her bidding.

"I want answers, Hermione!" he suddenly screamed, throwing himself at her. She stealthily deflected him, sending him flying to the floor. He recovered easily enough, his jaw set with rage. "None of you will tell me a damn thing about what I am!"

"I would think the reason was quite obvious."

"And what would that be?" In this moment he cared not about Hermione and their awkward, sexually charged relationship. He needed to know certain things and she was standing in his way.

"You're dangerous!" she yelled, throwing her hands up in frustration. "Giving you vital information is tantamount to giving it to Voldemort. No, let me finish," she warned, seeing a retort in his eyes. "I'm not suggesting you are not on our side, your situation forces you thus. I'm simply making a comparison. You have every reason to use your unknown powers against me. I can't afford to let that happen."

"And so I'm left in the dark."

"For now, yes."

"What about the other issue?"

"What issue?"  
Draco rolled his eyes at her apparent ignorance.

"I hardly see it as an 'issue'. We let our hormones and stress get the better of us. Now that it's over we can take steps to prevent it from happening again."

A great cry of laughter erupted from Draco's mouth.

Hermione glared heatedly at him.

"Are you seriously trying to convince me that you don't want it again?"  
"I'm not _trying_ to convince you of anything. Facts—"

"Bullshit."

"Excuse me?"  
"We may have harbored intense hatred for each other in the past, but that's over, honey. You're trying to hide it even now, but all you can think about is how deliciously violent and perfect last night was."

"Merlin," she whispered, her cheeks flaring pink. "I…Oh, Merlin."

"Come here," Draco said, opening his arms to her, his thoughts already saturated with images of her writhing naked body below him.

Hesitantly she stepped towards him, her arms reaching out.

"Oh Draco," she moaned.

"Yes?" he breathed, his blood already beginning to centralize into his lower half.

"How pathetic do you think I am?" she laughed, latching onto his thick white neck with both hands. "Don't you dare make ridiculous assumptions about me again. I have more self-control than that. Otherwise, how would I be able to tolerate being around you without killing you?" She released him and he stumbled backwards, clutching his neck. "I slipped up, Draco, because I was mad at Ron. Revenge, not lust."

"Bitch," he seethed.

"Perhaps next time you'll remember that."

Giving him no time to retort, she gathered her skirts and fled the supposed shelter, only to come face to face with another, equally terrifying, opponent.

"Do you think I'm blind? Stupid? Unaware?"

Hermione clenched her fists at her sides, still fueled from her confrontation with Draco. She'd only just emerged from their fallout shelter, where Harry stood, his face a mixture of anger, hurt, and disappointment.

"No," she spat. "But you sure are nosey."

"Your emotions effect everything you do, Hermione! You're not sending Malfoy to Voldemort's base because he had a good plan. It's shaky at best. You want him gone so you don't have to be reminded of your betrayal to Ron."

Hermione's face stiffened as she realized what he was telling her. He knew. Somehow he knew.

"How—"

"Just as you vampires can know events at a distance, so can I. I may be back in this dimension, Hermione, but I've retained a great deal."

Breaking free from her original shock, she reverted back to anger and attempted to leave.

"Does it bother you that I can do what you can?" Harry asked bluntly, grabbing her arm.

"Not that you can," she whispered, sadness ultimately consuming her, "but that you _do_."

He let go of her arm, his stomach dropping to the floor.

"What I do is my business," she asserted.

"And what Ron does is his. It's time you learned that."

"And so I have."

* * *

"Why are you helping me?" Draco asked, his tone unable to hide his obvious suspicion. "Last I knew you couldn't stand to be in the same room as me."

"Hermione has been nothing but good to me. I only wish to repay the favor. As for you," she sighed, "although not actually responsible, your intelligence lead Voldemort to me and my family. They are dead and I am a werewolf because of it, so forgive me for being less than friendly with you."

"Forgiven."

Her small face twisted with agitation.

"When can you be ready to leave?"  
"In six nights, after the full moon."

"Very well. I will give you further instructions in time. You can go."  
She turned and headed for the door.

"Oh, and Marianna, you're going to need to practice your acting more. I can feel the hatred pouring off you. If you're going to be me you're going to have to learn obedience."

* * *

"This is unacceptable!" Hermione cried, slamming her hands on the desk before her. Any harder and she might have broken it.

"Damn right it's unacceptable," Draco agreed, thumbing through some documents. "Out of all the hundreds of rebels you have at your disposal and the only one willing to help isn't even of age yet."

"She is _not_ accompanying you, and that's final. I'm revoking your mission and placing you under constant supervision."

"Excuse me? But I seem to recall a conversation not two days ago where you told me to find a partner. How is it my fault that the only willing participant is Marianna?"

"No child—"

"I think I deserve revenge as much as you, Hermione," came a small silvery voice. The couple turned to find the topic of discussion standing before them. "My age does not mean I have not suffered. My _entire_ family was slaughtered," she hissed, her voice steadily rising, overshadowing her youthfulness. "And the only reason I was spared was because Fenrir Greyback had his fill and wanted to recruit me. I have spent five long years hiding from the moon, only wishing to give Voldemort and Greyback what they deserve." Her breathing slowed to normal and she took several steps towards Draco. "All my life people have been trying to protect me, to keep me from danger, and from my revenge. Draco is the only person clearheaded enough to give me a chance. I beg you to reconsider."

Hermione's face changed from angry to shocked, and finally annoyed when she noticed Draco's smug expression.

"Very well," Hermione said through her teeth, then stormed out of the room.

"Repaying Hermione's kindness, huh?"  
"Would you have agreed had I said you were the only one foolish enough to let a child partner with you?"

Draco smirked.

"It appears we're going to make a good team after all."

* * *

Dropping to her knees, Hermione vomited several pints of blood only a few inches from the still body of her most recent victim. Sauda quickly rushed to her side, pulling her hair back so not to soil it. With nothing left to regurgitate, Hermione tumbled sideways to lie in a pitiful mess on the icy cobbled stones.

"Hermione," Sauda whispered in her deep, cultured voice. "You mustn't despair. There is so much—"

"There is nothing," the younger vampire sighed, her delicate white fingers tracing the mortar around each cobblestone. "I've experienced far too much life in my twenty-five years. I've been through one war and am I about to run headlong into another. I've willing lost the love of my life, and now I've betrayed our memories by consorting with the enemy. I cannot endure at this pace and hope to accomplish anything of value."

"But in surrender you are devaluing anything of worth you've done. How many lives have you saved?"  
"How many have I taken?" Hermione countered.

"Evil souls. The point is you strive for good despite your failure. Isn't that worth something?"  
"There was a time when I would have said absolutely yes. That time is gone. I have succumbed to the evil that was done to me. How then can I command an army for good?"

Giving a heavy sigh, Sauda wrapped her arms around her friend and pulled her to a sitting position. She understood all too well the pain Hermione was going through, the pain all their kind would inevitably go through. For their lives were destined to go unchecked, to expand beyond the boundaries of natural existence and leave all those who mattered behind. Draco was perhaps the only case she'd encountered where the vampire was virtually unaffected by his forced transformation. The life of strict rule and harsh punishment that is any aristocracy must have left his soul barren and useless. How she would love to possess his detachment, his stoicism. Though she couldn't know it at the time, Hermione may have created the perfect vampire.

"The answers will come to you in time. To quit now would make everything you've worked towards have been in vain."

"I am about to send an unprepared child into Voldemort's base because of the path I've taken!" Hermione yelled, stumbling back and to her feet. Sauda only shook her head and stood. "My actions, 'everything I've worked for', has caused me to endanger this girl's life! The person I used to be would _never_ have allowed this. But how can I prevent her from seeking revenge when I did the same and so ruthlessly?"

"You can learn from your mistakes and correct them," Sauda said in as calm a voice as she could muster. Truth be told she was growing weary of these young vampire games. At this point in her life she was ready to settle down in some remote place with another as humbled and tired as she, Kuhn-tun Baar perhaps. Even Draco, with his knack for vampirism, would ultimately serve a better companion than Hermione or another mortal-bound vampire. For she was too attached to her former life, too young and inexperienced to fully understand Sauda's need for complacency. Yes she had gone through many traumatic ordeals, but she took them too personally, dwelled on them for too long.

"And how do you propose I do that?"

"No matter how it makes you look or how angry Marianna becomes, stand your ground and uphold your beliefs. Because in the end, when all those you've loved are gone, what you stand for becomes who you are. Vampires have no need to acquire maternal wealth or fight petty wars—that human side in you will soon disappear—and so our intangible ideals are all that's left. Tell that girl you've made a mistake, tell her her time will come, and if she does not like it she can leave. Be the leader everyone believes you are but are too damn scared to becomes."

Hermione's face shifted from shocked to angry to ill in one fluid motion. Holdering her stomach she lurched forward and vomited another pint of fresh, hot blood just as Ron and Imogen came over hill, hand in hand.

* * *

"It's not nearly as bad as it appeared," Sauda said, leading Ron up and out of the fallout shelter so Hermione could rest. "She's under a lot of stress and simply regurgitated her meal, which happens to be much messier for vampires."

"But she'll be alright?" Ron asked, twisting his hands.

"She just needs rest to recuperate. She'll be perfect tomorrow evening. I promise."  
"Is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"Has she finally…snapped?"

Sauda frowned, disappointment evident in her eyes.

"You know she only eve did what she thought was right. Yes she sought revenge, but she was well within her right. There's not another soul I know more dedicated than her."

Ron's cheeks reddened fiercely. He knew what she was getting at.

"She can't expect me to go on living this way."

"She never did," Sauda said, giving a small, weak smile. "Why do you think she denied you at every turn? She _wanted_ you to get angry, to forget her, because she knew she never could. To spare your pain she took it all into herself. She is far from cowardly. Ironically, she was only being human."

Clutching his mouth, Ron stumbled back to sit on a large boulder, his face green. With the determination of a soldier he closed his eyes, calming his thudding heart.

"From the moment I knew she was a vampire," he whispered, opening his eyes, "I knew we could never be together again. I…I knew, but I could never believe it. Even now I still pine for what I can't have. I don't think I'll ever accept it."

"Nor should you. Had fate been slightly different you would be together. You can't change things, but you can make them easier for her."

"How?" But he already knew the answer.

* * *

Alright then, there's chapter 13. I think I made some more progress here. Hermione's had her break down, so now hopefully she can start to refocus her mind and decide what she wants and needs, and get this war underway.

Wonder what's been going on in Voldemort's camp…

REVIEW!


	14. Gone, But Not Forgotten

Recap:

"From the moment I knew she was a vampire," he whispered, opening his eyes, "I knew we could never be together again. I…I knew, but I could never believe it. Even now I still pine for what I can't have. I don't think I'll ever accept it."

"Nor should you. Had fate been slightly different you would be together. You can't change things, but you can make them easier for her."

"How?" But he already knew the answer.

* * *

Chapter 14: Gone, But Not Forgotten

"He's gone, isn't he?" were the first words out of Hermione's mouth when she awoke.

"Yes," Sauda answered from across the room.

"Good…" she whispered, her muscles relaxing. "Have you eaten?"

"I was waiting for you."

The pair emerged from the underground shelter, their steps deliberate and quick. Without speaking a word, they reached a decision: feed as fast as possible and return to headquarters. Only a few weeks remained before Voldemort's great victory celebration, at which time they would carry out their plan as scheduled.

When they returned to headquarters, Hermione was pleased to find Ron had in fact left, leaving Imogen behind. She ignored the girl as she entered the designated meeting room, getting straight to business. She hadn't the time for love quarrels anymore. Sauda was right, it was time she truly became a worthy leader.

Clapping her hands, she called everyone to attention. They eyed her closely, well aware that a significant change had occurred. Holding their breath, they listened.

"We have exactly sixteen days before Voldemort's victory celebration. That means less than two weeks to prepare and execute our plan. Every minute counts; every one of you is vital. Using the information you've given us, we were able to formulate specific objectives and strategies for each of you." Pausing, she turned to Benjamin Black. "How soon can you and the Undercovers leave? We need to put distance between ourselves now to avoid suspicion."

"We can be gone by nightfall tomorrow."

"Wonderful. Everyone who is on assignment with Benjamin has until tomorrow by nightfall to get ready. If this means traveling to see your loved ones, then please do so. But be back here tomorrow. As for the rest of you…" Hermione's speech continued in the same manner, offering her rebels moral support while remaining honest. By the time she was finished it was nearly nine o'clock. Dismissing them to their respective assignments, she caught sight of Marianna and Draco, leaving towards the back of the house. Excusing herself, she pushed through the crowd, just catching them as they entered one of the less crowded rooms.

"May I have a word with you two?'

"You're the boss," Draco shrugged, gathering up his scrolls to follow her to the study she shared with Harry, Benjamin, and Seamus. Marianna didn't say a word, but Hermione caught a hint of a smirk at Draco's sarcasm.

"Please sit."

"Just say it," Draco sighed.

"Fine," Hermione said through tight lips. "Marianna, I made a mistake and I owe you an apology."

"You're taking back your approval?" the small girl hissed. Her eyes widened and her relatively large muscles tensed and bulged. Though in human form, Hermione suspected she could still do quite a lot of damage. "Coward."

"It would be cowardly of me to send you to Voldemort. You're full of anger, hate, and vengeance. That is no way to seek justice."

"I have waited—"

"And you'll wait longer," Hermione snapped, losing her composure for a fraction of a moment. "This is my campaign. You are here under my rules. I told you and everyone else that the first day. If you don't like it—"

"Fine then. I have no choice but to leave. But consider me your enemy from now on. You stood in the way of my revenge. I will never forget that."

In a flurry of curls and anger, Marianna stormed out of the room, leaving the reluctant lovers in a heavy silence.

"I did the right thing," Hermione said, as if Draco had threatened to contradict that fact.

"I know. For awhile I wondered if you could."

"Me too," she sighed. "Me too."

* * *

Hermione knew she was there long before she chose to make herself known. Skirting the edges of the lawn, she came into the moonlight just as Hermione's foot touched the bottom step of the back porch. She silently thanked her pursuer for having the good sense to approach her _after_ she'd fed; her veins were plump, her nerves calm.

"Should we go inside, or would you rather not have witnesses?"

"Sarcasm?" Imogen scoffed as Hermione turned to face her, her eyes narrowed but her breathing normal. She was ready to talk civilly, but for how long she couldn't be sure. "May I have a word?"

"That depends. If it's mission-related—"

"You've intruded on my life," Imogen snapped, her anger flaring for an instant. "I never asked to fall prey to your problems. The least you could do is give me some answers."

"Very well," Hermione conceded, gesturing towards a pair of stone benches a few yards away. Imogen obliged, though Hermione sensed it was only because she wanted to appear as in control of her emotions as possible, and in doing so she must remain cordial. "What can I help you with?"

"Do you have a problem with me that I'm unaware of?"

Hermione resisted the urge to stiffen. Because she was right: due to circumstances outside both their control, Hermione did feel negatively towards this girl. It was nothing personal, nothing she could help. If anything, she wanted her animosity to disappear so they could go on with their lives and the important things they were trying to do. Jealousy had no place in war, not if one wanted to be successful.

"I apologize if you feel that way," Hermione finally answered. "It was never my intention to alienate anyone. Circumstances were unavoidable, however."

"Circumstances were unavoidable? Not your intentions? Hermione," she sighed, shaking her head. "Please, don't insult me. It's not a coincidence that both Ron and Marianna are now gone, and by your doing."

"Marianna?" Hermione whispered, her shock evident. She had only been thinking of Ron. The situation with Marianna had been completely separate and exactly what Imogen claimed it could not be: a coincidence. But, because of recent events, it was no wonder she thought they were related, thought Hermione was out to get her. "Imogen, I…I'm afraid you're mistaken."

"I asked you not to insult me. You're better than that."

"You have to listen to reason. Why would I try—"

"Because you're jealous of my relationship with Ron!" she cried, jumping to her feet.

"Your _relationship_?" Hermione slowly stood as well, unable to allow herself even the slightest vulnerability.

"Yes. _Our _relationship. I know it's difficult for you to accept, but—as of two days ago—Ron and I are together. But you couldn't handle that and had him sent away!"

"I what? I never sent him anywhere."

"So he just took off on his own? Only days after we got together? I'm sure you'd love that to be true."

"Wait."

"What?"

"He didn't tell you why he left?"

Imogen's nostrils flared and her fists clenched, before she dropped her head slightly and sighed.

"Imogen, please believe me. I know…I know I was less than…supportive before, but I made a promise to myself. I love Ron—I can't deny that, not after all of this—but how I feel about him has no bearing on the present. And it also made me realize that his happiness is more important than my hang-ups. I'm sorry for any problems—"

"No," Imogen interrupted, taking a few careful steps back. "No, that doesn't excuse what you did to me. You sent Ron away, you ordered him to leave. And, if that wasn't revenge enough, you forced Marianna out too. Who's next? Hagan? Me? Why can't you just accept how things are? I thought you were supposed to be noble and…and understanding. All I ever heard during the war was what a great person you are! And I come here, ready to give _my life_ for the cause, and I'm bombarded with childish jealousy. Not only is it unprofessional, but it's…it's…very disappointing…"

"Imogen, I never—"

"You never? You never! From the moment I got here you have been—"

"Is there some kind of problem out here?" came a rough voice from behind them. Both turned to find Imogen's brother Hagan standing on the back porch, his eyes trained on Hermione. Obviously he was well aware of their dispute.

"This is nothing we can't settle on our own," Hermione said in a would-be reassuring voice.

"Clearly that's not the case, or your problems would have been solved already."

"I highly recommend that you leave."

"Sending him away too?" Imogen laughed, crossing her arms over her chest in a very Draco-esque manner. "I suppose I'm the only one left then."

"You're being childish—"

"I'd choose my words carefully if I were you," Hagan cut in, stepping off the porch to confront her. "The only person who has been a child in all of this—I'm sorry to say—is you, Hermione. Jealous fits? Sending Ron and Marianna away? What did that poor girl do to you anyway?"

"Marianna has nothing to do with—"

"Which makes it all the more appalling. Sending an innocent girl away because of your feud with her friend? Aren't you a little too old for such things?"

"Hagan, Imogen, I order you—"

"She orders us?" Imogen laughed, shaking her head. "Is this how you pictured your great victory over me? You bumbling over your words, unable to make up a lie believable enough to—"

"I'd stop there if I were you," came a new voice, one slow and drawling. A moment later Draco stepped into view, his face calm, but his fists clenched. It was obvious that he'd heard the whole conversation.

"I most certainly—"

"I said _shut up_!" he cried, shoving a rolled piece of parchment at her chest. Imogen snarled and coughed, but took the scroll. "Open it."

Rolling her eyes, Imogen unraveled the scroll. Lazily her eyes traveled over the formal writing. It wasn't until she reached the end that her eyes widened. She opened her mouth to yell, for in writing Hermione had granted Marianna permission to go into Voldemort's lair, but Draco cut her off.

"The reason your little friend is no longer here—funny, isn't it? The people you thought you were closest to you up and left without saying good-bye—the reason she stormed away, is because Hermione, having been coerced into agreeing to allow her the mission, took back her word. Marianna was so furious she declared Hermione her enemy and left without taking her things. If you don't believe that, then I'm sure Seamus could vouche for her. He was on the other side of the room when the meeting took place…And, as for this Weasley nonsense, the rat left on his own accord. Sauda—"

"I can speak for myself, thank you," came Sauda's rich, ancient voice. She too must have been listening from the start. "Imogen, dear," she said, her voice low and soothing and sincere. "I believe I should apologize. It was my suggestion that led Ron to his decision to leave. The amount of stress put on Hermione with him present—with him and you—was detrimental to our plans, and to her health. I told him that if he left he would make things a lot easier for everyone."

Imogen stared blankly at Hermione, Draco, and Sauda, the three vampires who had caused her so much turmoil in such a short amount of time. She wanted to scream, to hit them, to cry out that they had wronged her and would pay. But, having always been a level-headed person, she had no choice but to accept their stories, as she had no proof otherwise. It was very like Marianna to up and leave without saying a word, to get so caught up in her anger that she couldn't talk to anyone. If anything, she had Hermione to thank for her friend's safety. And, as for Ron, it was him she should have been angry with. He was the one that chose to leave, the one that went without saying good-bye, with only a short note saying he would write soon. She had been so caught up in her rivalry with Hermione that, when her friends began to leave, she naturally assumed it was Hermione trying to punish her for something completely out of her control.

With a heavy sigh, Imogen nodded, then turned and walked back into the house, Hagan close on her heals. She didn't need to say anything; they knew she would be gone before daylight.

"Sauda," Hermione whispered.

"I'll go tell her where Ron went."

"Thank you."

"Hermione?" Draco said once Sauda was gone.

"Why did you do that?" she demanded, shoving into him as she made her way for their shelter. "I was fine. I could have reasoned with her."

"And her brother?" Draco scoffed, following after her. "They were cornering you!"

"Cornering me?" she laughed viciously. "A vampire? Please."

"Why can't you just accept that I did a nice thing for you?"

Having reached the inside of their sanctuary, Hermione stopped dead in her tracks, her body frozen, her back to him. Draco took a step towards her, but stopped when he realized she was shaking with anger. And in situations like this, it never ended well for him.

"_You_?" she laughed. "_You_ did a _nice_ thing for _me_? I don't know what alternate dimension you think this is, but in the real world Draco Malfoy does _nothing_ for anyone unless it benefits himself. So if you're planning on convincing me of something, then I suggest you start with a more believable lie than that."

"Hermione," he sighed, taking a risk in coming around to the front of her. "You're right," he lied, for truly he had come to her defense, and for the life of him he could not figure out why. "I…I'm sorry."

Looking up, they locked eyes. She licked her lips, took a step forward so their bodies were barely touching, but when she opened her mouth the last thing he was thinking came out: "Have you found a new partner yet?"

Sighing, he answered. "Yes. His name is Shyam Banerjee. He's nineteen. Moved here from Indian with his family ten years ago. He offered, so I accepted."

"Is he reputable?"

"He's good enough."

"When are you leaving?" Her voice was shaky, her words forced.

"Eight days," he said, then closed the gap between them, wrapping his strong, ethereal arms around her waist.

"Draco, please…"

"No," he whispered harshly, crushing her to him, their lips only a parchment's width apart. "I want you. Only you. It may not have been my master plan, but it's all I can think about now. I must have you."

"Do you love me?"

"Do I…what?" he stuttered, pulling back slightly while keeping his arms around her.

"Do you love me? It's a simple question, Draco…You see, that's what I had with Ron. He loved me, I loved him. It's the only solid foundation of a relationship. Want will only go so far," she laughed, slipping from his grasp. "Not only do I know you are incapable of love, I don't give a damn." Her voice was calm and steady now, the sexual tension had passed. "You are the reason for my pain, Malfoy! _You_! How could I live with myself if I were with you? If it weren't for your ignorance, I would still be with the only person I have ever loved. I would be mortal. Hell! _You_ would be mortal!...I've had enough of your games. I've let this go on long enough. I don't love you, Malfoy. I never could. There is only one emotion I am capable of feeling for you…and that's hate. I hate every thought I am forced to have of you, because every time I think of you I think of my betrayal to Ron!" she cried, slamming her fist into the oak desk beside her. Draco's scrolls flew in all directions; neither paid them any attention. "Every time I think of you I think of what I lost with Ron!...I don't want you in my life anymore…After this mission," she sighed, channeling all her energy to control herself, "you're free to go. I give you my word."

"But—"

"That's an order!" she hissed, then turned and left the shelter before he could respond.

"Fuck," he sighed, collapsing into the nearest chair. "Fuck!" And for the first time in years, he broke down and cried.

* * *

Alright, there's another chapter out of the way. I know I said we would pop in to see what Voldemort's been up to, but there were some other things that I realized needed my attention.

Anyway, REVIEW!


	15. A Vampire's Lesson

Recap:

"…After this mission," she sighed, channeling all her energy to control herself, "you're free to go. I give you my word."

"But—"

"That's an order!" she hissed, then turned and left the shelter before he could respond.

"Fuck," he sighed, collapsing into the nearest chair. "Fuck!" And for the first time in years, he broke down and cried.

* * *

Chapter 15: A Vampire's Lesson

His body shaking with pure rage, Draco looked down at his trembling hands, coated with blood and stuck with long, thin splinters from his coffin. For a full two minutes he'd shed his tears, his emotions welling and expanding from shock to hurt to utter malice. What right had she to denounce him in such a way? To put a finite conclusion on something as infinite as their immortal lives? She was so sure of herself, so damn narrow-minded that she couldn't understand how someone as cruel-hearted and naïve as Draco Malfoy could change. He didn't deny what monumental mistakes he'd made and he was ready to reconcile them. If for no other reason than she didn't believe he could.

Wiping off his hands, he mulled over his situation. It would be more than satisfying to put Hermione Granger in her place, to prove her wrong and then deny her the release of forgiveness. But thinking about this only made him angrier, because hadn't he already proven himself? Hadn't he saved Ron's life, thereby absolving his original sin? And hadn't Hermione taken her revenge? Tenfold? What more could be given or taken before there was nothing left? Nothing but bitterness and longing?

On the other hand, however, perhaps he was incapable of understanding her loss because he had never been an innocent victim of such cruelty. His entire life had been devoted to evil; he had no concept of good. Did that then mean he was incapable of doing good, and thereby _being_ good? Or was this line of thinking a product of Hermione's hatred towards him? A way to keep him from being good so she could continue to loathe him freely? Ironically, he hated to think this was the case, for then everything in her he was drawn to—everything that was different from him and his world—would be a front, a lie, a path to false hope.

She would be like everything else in his miserable life: a disappointment.

* * *

"Come in," Draco said, his voice full and authoritative. Momentarily a chill passed through him; it was a feeling he had not tasted in so long he'd almost forgotten its intoxicating nature: power.

"Good evening," the young Indian man greeted him, giving way to a slight bow before he sat down. Again he tasted the power, only this time stronger. No matter what had happened in these past months it seemed Draco was destined to crave that which destroyed him. Even his fruitless pursuit of Hermione Granger was proof of this. Ever so slowly she was destroying who he was.

"I suppose I will never hear 'Good morning' again."

Though he tried to suppress it, to remain stoically formal, Draco sensed his need to laugh, although he suspected not because what he'd said was funny. It was then that Draco realized he knew this boy, though from where he could not place, only that suddenly he was startlingly familiar.

"Alright," Draco said, brushing away the feeling. He was allowing his emotions to get the better of him, again. Never before in his life had this been a recurring problem. Hell! Never had it been a _problem_! He was changing too quickly, his "growth spurt" leaving him deformed and awkward. He was going to need to address the issue soon, before it could cause any real damage. "Protocol dictates that I have to inform you of your obligations throughout this mission, Shyam."

"I'm fully aware of all that it entails. Black and I have exhausted the subject. I know what is expected and I am more than prepared."

Draco's neutral expression turned to a deep frown. Not only was Shyam hauntingly familiar, but his attitude bordered on arrogance. This was not going to be as smooth as he'd hoped.

"Very well," he replied, reaching for the contract he had to sign. "But let me remind you, Shyam, that I call the shots here. I am in charge. You'd do well to remember that when speaking to me."

"Yes sir." Though his arrogant snideness was gone, Draco still sensed his mal-intent. For now, he would let it slide.

"Sign the 'x', then we're done."

"Yes sir." He signed his name, huge and scrawling.

"We leave Sunday at night fall."

"Understood," Shyam said, standing to leave.

"One more thing," he said, pausing for emphasis. "I _will_ figure you out. You can guarantee it."

"Excuse me, sir?"

"You're free to go."

* * *

Draco was up and ready to leave at first dark, his supplies having been packed the night before. He gathered his things quickly, not daring to chance a look in Hermione's direction. She lay in a deep vampiric sleep in her coffin, the lid only slightly open. Briefly he wondered why she was still asleep, but assumed it had more to do with the war and sheer exhaustion than anything about him. Of course she wouldn't care to see him off, but he didn't think for a second that she was avoiding him, it simply wasn't in her nature to tiptoe around the subject, especially with him. If she were conscious then she damn well would have been up and about, doing her normal routine.

He slipped out of their underground lair in silence, placing his bag at the entrance. Shyam and Black would be here soon, any minute perhaps. He savored the feeling of being completely alone, for it would not last, taking in the sights and sounds and smells of the new night. Mortals had been up and going about their business during the light hours, hours he would never see again. He could almost taste a residue of warmth from the last vestiges of light. He didn't know if he actually missed it, or if it was just his heightened senses making him more aware.

"Good evening Draco," Benjamin Black said, his scent present before he was. Shyam walked slowly behind him, as if taking in the scenery.

"Black," he said through his teeth, a strange feeling passing through him. Shouldn't he be on good terms with Black seeing as they were both on the same side? But something still bothered him about his close relative, the same something that he sensed in Shyam.

"I trust you have everything ready and in order."

Draco gestured towards his bag.

"Very well. I shall see you upon your return," he said, offering Draco his hand.

Reluctantly he accepted, their eyes locked. _Upon his return._ But she didn't want him to come back.

As he left Shyam eyed his back, as if expecting something more. When he was gone it was just the two of them. Not wanting to waste anymore time, Draco swung his bag onto his back and started into the forest just yards from where Hermione had just arisen below.

* * *

Hermione opened her eyes and sighed. He was gone, she knew without having to look or be told. He hadn't left very long ago for his scent still lingered in the room. She breathed deep and frowned. Was it wrong to pine for him? Wrong to want to be back in his arms? _Of course it was_, she reasoned, climbing out of her coffin. Even if it was only primal lust and need, the _who_ was still a problem. She still couldn't forget the look on Harry's face when he'd confronted her; the hurt, the sadness, the rage. And she had been the cause of it, as she had been for so long.

"Well not anymore," she hissed, throwing on her cloak. In demanding Draco to leave she had taken the first step to returning her life to normal, or at least as normal as it could get. And she would do anything for that.

She found Harry easily enough, his body hunched over a desk with scrolls, books, and quills strewn about it. Ginny sat at his side, giving Hermione a quick smile, then went back to what she'd been busily working on.

"Harry please," she said, her voice loud enough for several others in the room to hear. She was through with modesty and secrecy. This was a war after all, and her pettiness was making the situation nearly unbearable. Most of all she missed Ron, desperately wishing for his return and knowing it would not happen. Not any time soon anyway. Sauda was the only soul, other than Imogen and her brother, who knew where he'd gone. Even his own family was unaware of his exact location. Imogen was surely with him by now, aiding him on whichever assignment he'd chosen. She only prayed for his success and safe return. She was beyond hoping for foolish things like having him back. Their time was over; he was moving on. She didn't think she had the strength just yet to do the same, but she was getting there. And perhaps she had Draco to thank for that, his ferocity and determination pushing the limits of her psyche. Somewhere within her she prayed for _his_ safety as well, and that their paths would never cross again.

Harry looked up from his work, his face showing the heavy signs of fatigue and mental anguish.

"I'll be in the back yard if you're ready to talk to me." It wasn't that he'd been avoiding her, but since he'd confronted her about Draco that night outside the shelter they hadn't said hardly a word to one another. Granted they both had plenty to keep them busy for the next hundred years, but they both knew that wasn't the reason. He was hurt and she was shamed, a deadly combination.

Turning slowly, she headed out of the room.

"Wait," Harry called after her, setting down his quill. "I'm coming."

They walked in silence through the bustling house, every room full of willing and eager rebels with some assignment or another to attend to. Just as they were about to step onto the back porch, Hermione caught Benjamin's eye. He nodded sympathetically at her, knowing full well what was going on.

"I don't expect, nor want, an apology," he said as soon as they were alone.

"I know," she said. She never intended on apologizing, for it would have been a lie anyway. She wasn't exactly sorry for what had transpired between her and Draco, because it had caused her to wake up, to re-establish her priorities and take charge the way everyone knew she could. All she'd needed was a little push and apparently Draco's advances were just that.

"Then what did you want?" There was nothing rude or vulgar about his question; he simply wanted to know.

"To talk. I know the situation wasn't idle—" She tried to ignore the look of disgust on her best friend's face. "—but there's something you need to understand." She paused, giving him time to say something if he pleased. He remained silent, listening, giving her the benefit of the doubt. "I've been a complete wreck since Draco turned me over to the vampires, as I'm sure you can understand, you haven't exactly been on vacation yourself. And even though he was the cause of most all of my grief, he somehow managed to also be the one to give me the motivation I needed to lead this rebellion. I know it seems crazy, but my mistake with Draco opened my eyes. I don't want to be a victim anymore, I don't want to wish and hope and not achieve. I've been given another chance to win this war and I don't intend to waste it. I may not have wanted to be what I am—never would I have chosen it—but now that my fate is upon me I will use all of my evil gifts to defeat Voldemort and put our world back in order!"

She was breathless by the time she finished speaking, her fists clenched tight in her rambling excitement. Harry only smiled meekly and nodded.

"I can appreciate that," he said, reaching out to unclench one of her fists and take her hand gently in his. "I know what pain and war can do to people. Please don't think I can't be understanding just because my emotion get the better of me. And who knows, maybe this silly crush Draco has developed for you will work in our favor."

"How did you—" But she stopped herself. Of course he knew, how could he not? Her face reddened with embarrassment.

"Hey," he said, lifting her chin with his free hand. She wanted to laugh; a mortal comforting a powerful vampire, it was too bizarre for her to think on right then. Perhaps Sauda was right; her humanity was beginning to slip away. "How Draco feels towards you does not reflect who _you_ are."

"I know."

Harry laughed. "I know you do. Now come inside. Ginny and I have some things to run by you."

* * *

FLASHBACK:

"You were right."

Kuhn-tun Baar looked up, his eyes mild and his smile sincere, although if one looked hard enough there was a hint of satisfaction. Closing the book in his lap, he gave his full attention.

"She does affect me. How can I change that?" He had just come from their underground lair, his emotions still hot and stirring. How dare she demand he leave!

"Do you want to?"

"Of course I do!"

"I cannot help you if you are upset, Draco. Distress is confining your rationality."

"I'm through trying to be rational! Rationality has gotten me nowhere!…She wants me to leave."

"Then leave."

Draco narrowed his eyes, his nose scrunching in irritation.

"You want to fix your problem, you don't want to be controlled by your emotions for her—so leave. Nothing good can come from you staying here, where she does not want or need you. Complete your mission, then leave. Do as she wishes now, for in the future—"

"Leave and do what? I'll be hunted down by Voldemort's men, carried back to base, and placed in the sun to fry! I'm protected here, and she knows it. She…she would rather me die than face what's happened…"

"I hardly see how you can blame her."

"I've repaid my debt!" Draco screamed, clenching his fists so hard his nails cut into his palms. "She's taken her revenge! I owe her nothing!"

"Is that how you really feel? Or is that what you wish were true?"

"How can it not be true? She killed my father, turned my mother and I, killed innumerable Death Eaters in pursuit of me, and now holds me captive to do her bidding. An eye for an eye, I believe in that. She was right in her retaliation, but for the eye I took she has taken a soul!"

"Then perhaps her actions stem from another source. Perhaps her abandoning you is not a reflection of your misdeeds, but of—"

"Hers, I know," he sighed, growling low in his throat. Of course. She blamed herself for what happened between them and how it relates to her former life with Ron. And no amount of retribution was going to ease her mind. She had labeled herself soiled, evil, as bad as those who had wronged her. Or worse. Draco really could never know, for when in his life had he held such strong convictions that, when they were broken, he felt such overwhelming despair that nothing could bring solace? "I…I have to leave," he whispered, realizing it with such force that he felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. "I can't ever come back."

"I know," Kuhn-tun agreed. "It is a lesson every vampire must learn in time. I am truly sorry."

"Don't be," he bit, turning away. "I did this to myself."

END FLASHBACK:

Draco stopped mid-stride, lifting his hands in the air as if he were being mugged in the streets.

"Much sooner than I anticipated," he said, his voice dripping with arrogance. "I thought for sure—"

"Shut up," Shyam ordered, jamming his wand into Draco's back, "and walk."

"You do realize I could overpower you at any time."

"I said shut up!" he hissed. "Or your little girlfriend will suffer the consequences. If I give the signal then Black will—"

"Ah yes, my courageous cousin. How fitting that he should be a double-double agent. Very pureblooded of him."

"Shut up or—"

Shyam was on the ground, his wand yards away, before he even realized he'd moved. Draco stood over him, his fangs barred, his nostrils flaring.

"Your threats would be worth more if you actually had the strength to back them up," he said through his teeth. "Now," he said, forcibly calming himself, a technique he'd mastered through years of loyal service to the Dark Lord, "tell me everything, or I'll snap your neck and that'll be the end of it."

Bowing his head in shame, Shyam began to speak.

* * *

Ok, so there it is, Chapter 15 done. Hopefully I'll get another one out soon. I'm not entirely sure where I want to go from here, I mean I do have an idea, but I'm unsure of how to start the next chapter. Any suggestions (or requests) are appreciated.

As always, REVIEW!


	16. The Plan Realized

Recap:

"Your threats would be worth more if you actually had the strength to back them up," he said through his teeth. "Now," he said, forcibly calming himself, a technique he'd mastered through years of loyal service to the Dark Lord, "tell me everything, or I'll snap your neck and that'll be the end of it."

Bowing his head in shame, Shyam began to speak.

* * *

Chapter 16: The Plan Realized

Ron's back stiffened and his ears perked as he sensed someone approaching. He clutched his wand, looking around slowly, his eyes scanning the vacant field he was standing in.

It had been nearly a week since he'd taken Sauda's advice and left Hermione's base. He hadn't had the heart to say good-day to anyone. It was like losing Hermione all over again, and this time Imogen was in the picture. He assumed she would now want to reconsider being with him after so much drama and so he'd left without so much as a note.

"It's me."

Ron straightened up and turned, his eyes wide with shock. Imogen's small frame emerged from the tree line, her hands up in defense. Her tall brother was at her heels.

"What—"

"Hermione told me everything. I didn't want to believe her, but I understand how traumatic war can be. And I respect you for having the strength to do what you thought you needed to do." And although she seemed sympathetic and genuine, her eyes mirrored the hurt she was feeling at his abandonment.

"I don't know what to say," he said after a long silence. "There was no way I could have stayed there. We have to win this war. I would never do anything to jeopardize that."

She wanted to say that his presence wouldn't cause any harm, that Hermione was just being silly and childish and arrogant. But she knew her words would fall on deaf ears. That, and she k new what she was going through, knew the pain of losing a loved one well before their death. Of course she was a bit jealous that her boyfriend would run from her without a word because his ex-lover drove him away. But in her heart she couldn't blame either of them; fate was cruel and unusual. "Could you use some help?" she settled on saying instead. He was alone and his face was dirty and scratched. If he didn't need help then certainly he needed a bath.

He looked around with his hands out, as if to say: I suppose it couldn't hurt.

"Do you want me here?"

"I really like you, Imogen," he said in a low voice. Hagan took the hint and wandered several yards away, pretending to admire a particularly warped-looking old tree.

"Should I leave?"

His expression told her what she didn't want to hear.

"Alright then," she said, turning away. He stood, watching her leave and fully intended to stand his ground. But, at the last second, he stumbled after her, grabbing the back of her knapsack.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, gently turning her around. "I…It's just…I don't deserve you."

Imogen's face darkened into a deep frown. Then she looked up and smiled.

"I should hex you for that," she laughed, smacking him playfully on the arm. He didn't laugh.

"I'm serious."

"So am I," she said sternly, taking his face in her hands. "I'm here to stay, Ron Weasley. I like you. I'm finally starting to feel happiness again. And I am not going to let you—"

But she couldn't finish her sentence, as he pulled her to him, crushing his lips to hers.

"Please stay," he said against her mouth. It felt so good to be this near someone again. Hermione's once-mortal face flashed in his mind for an instant, her smile bright and welcoming in the warm, midday sun. Darkness quickly clouded the image, however, as her teeth stretched into fangs and her smile twisted into a hideous grin. No, she was not _his_ Hermione anymore. Shrugging the image away, he grasped her tighter.

"You couldn't force me to leave."

* * *

"If he'd told any of you, you wouldn't have let him onto the base," Shyam said, his knees slowly sinking into the muddy ground. He sneered up at Draco, the epitome of the high-and-mighty aristocrat. He was everything Shyam's family had never been but always strove for. They'd lived recklessly, sometimes going without food so that their home would sparkle and shine with the clutter of expensive furniture and knickknacks. It was driven into him that he was meant to be of high society, that his destiny was something to be cherished. Yet here he was, sitting in the mud in tattered clothes in the middle of nowhere, answering to a proud, undeserving pureblood who could never truly know the meaning of the word privileged.

"Yes," Draco sighed, rolling his eyes. Shyam stifled the urge to kick him in the shin. Not that it would do any good, however. "It's obvious why you lied. What I don't understand is how he fooled _me_."

"Well," Shyam sniggered, "you're not as well-informed or intelligent as you'd like to believe."

"I know a dark wizard when I see one. And I know my own damn family. I know evil, because I am evil. And there is no way Benjamin Black is evil." Draco narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. "And neither are you…" he ventured slowly, contemplating the foreign wizard. "So who is it?"

"Who is what?"

"Who does Voldemort have that Black wants?"

Shyam stared, his eyes betraying his thoughts.

"I never said—"

"You didn't have to. There are few reasons a good person does the Dark Lord's bidding. So who is it? I know what you have at stake here, but Black—"

"How do you know it isn't I who have someone held hostage?"

Draco threw his head back and laughed.

"You require acceptance and glory, boy, not love. Your parents showered you with affection, you needn't run off with Voldemort for that. You need to prove yourself to someone and this has presented a great opportunity for that. Tell me I'm wrong."

Shyam looked away, his pride wounded.

"So, what's her name?"

"Verena Quintin," he said through his teeth.

"Verena…Hmmm…Doesn't sound familiar."

"Her family never consorted with the likes of yours."

Draco smiled down at the young Indian boy, feeling almost sorry for him.

"Perhaps I was wrong," he mused. "A cousin? Old family friend, maybe?"

"My half sister."

"Ahhh, I see. Glory is more important, but family has its place as well. I can respect that."

"Bite me, Malfoy."

Draco grinned ear to ear. "Don't tempt me."

* * *

Draco and Shyam reached the outer gate of Voldemort's compound an hour before sunrise. A small army of Death Eaters were there to greet them. Inwardly Draco laughed; they were afraid of his newfound strength and power. Even if they did believe he was on their side and acting as an undercover like Black and Shyam, they were still weary of his capabilities.

"The Dark Lord will receive you at Sunset this evening," a tall, willowy young female Death Eater informed him. "He has a coffin prepared for you. Come with me."

Leaving Shyam with the rest of the Death Eaters—who milled about him, sniggering at his mud-covered clothing—Draco followed the young girl, his wrists shackled together with a relatively weak binding spell. Either they were that dumb and thought he wasn't as powerful as Voldemort must have told them he was, or he was trusted and the spell was just a formality to keep order among the drones.

"Your discretions during your last meeting with the Dark Lord were remarkable," the young Death Eater said as they rounded a corner down a long, winding corridor. It was nearly pitch black, yet Draco could see just fine.

"Remarkable? Some would call them cowardly, blasphemous."

She turned so quickly that had Draco been a mortal man she might have caught him off guard.

"Those poor souls have lost nothing of value to the Dark Lord," she hissed, sticking her face fearlessly close to his.

"And you have?" Draco's lips curled into a vicious grin. How many among Voldemort's supporters were actually with him? It seemed one after the other they were coming to him and— "Nice try," he sighed, shaking his head sadly. For an instance he'd believed her. "I know a rat when I see one. You can tell our Lord that he needn't worry about my loyalty. I want revenge against the Mudblood and her kind just as badly as he wants to wipe them out. While I've been playing the good little captive to her, Black and I have been working on a plan to take them all down."

Her face dropped for an instant—a sparkle of true horror and disappointment flashed in her eyes—and then she smiled, her teeth showing like a Jack O'Lantern. Either she was an amazingly good actress or he'd crushed her only hope of an escape by doubting her allegiance. Soon enough he would find out which, though he doubted the outcome would be good for her no matter what.

* * *

"Any news from Draco?" Hermione asked, pulling Benjamin aside after a routine meeting. It had been four days since his departure from their camp and by her calculations he'd been within their boundaries for over two days.

"Not as of yet," he replied calmly, taking her hands in his. "I see your worry for him, but trust in his instincts. If there's anything he's good at it's acting. He'll play his part to perfection, trust me."

"Voldemort is no fool," she reminded him. "He'll figure it out sooner or later."

"Are you feeling well, Hermione?"

She scoffed at the question; vampires don't get sick.

"I'm quite serious. Your concern for Draco seems to stretch beyond the concern for an underling."

"His eternal punishment is in _my_ hands," she snapped a little too harshly. "Voldemort will not take that from me too."

* * *

"Shyam."

He continued to walk, his mind buzzing.

"Shyam?"

Who could he trust? Who was with Voldemort for real, who was a traitor? And how could he feasibly get all those he knew—or suspected—were against Voldemort to return with him to the base?

"Shyam!"

Draco stopped abruptly and turned, his eyes falling on a rather ragged-looking Death Eater with rolls of parchment heaped in his arms. He cursed himself silently; he was so caught up in his own thoughts that he'd forgotten he was supposed to be Shyam.

"Forgive me, sir," he said, playing the part of the would-be gentleman that Shyam always nauseatingly played, "my head was elsewhere. How may I assist you?"

"Take these to the archives to be filed," he said, dumping the parchment into Draco's arms and walking away without another word. Draco smiled secretly to himself and shuffled away to do as he was told. The archives were Voldemort's makeshift attempt at preserving his "glorious history". He dictated the events as he wanted them to be recorded to a scribe, then had them stored in an underground library of sorts, never to be seen again. Unless you were bringing scrolls to be filed there, no one ever saw the archives. "And no one would ever notice if something were missing," he mused, slipping down the spiral corridor to the archives. There had to be something of value down there; he only needed enough time to find it and flee. Then he would return to base, deliver his report and leave, for good.

* * *

"What are _you_ doing here?" he asked angrily. The tall girl jumped in surprise, scrolls of parchment tumbling to the floor. She recognized his voice, knew who he was, until she turned around, her brows narrowing in disgust.

"_Excuse me_?" she hissed. Draco groaned in realization; he was Shyam, who was below this woman in rank. "I will ask the questions, _underling_."

"Forgive me, madam," he said quickly, pulling out his best Shyam voice. If Draco was good at one thing it was adjusting his attitude/demeanor based on the situation. He'd done it many a time before the Dark Lord and the late Professor Snape; he did it now with Hermione, though notably with more of an edge to his voice. He knew when he could push his boundaries and when pushing was the worst possible idea. He was thoroughly trained to survive, his new vampiric attributes only adding to this need. "I thought you were one of the new recruits; the lighting in here is dreadful."

"Well I'm _far_ above your station, so do well to remember that when in my presence. Leave now before I report you."

"May I leave these scrolls with you then? I was told to file them accordingly."

She eyed the parchment for a moment, then sighed and gestured to him to dump them on the table to her left.

"Thank you, madam."

"It's Triana," she snapped curtly, not appreciating Draco/Shyam's false respect anymore than Draco did. "Remember that when you are addressing me," she added, her voice hauntingly sweet now, "Draco."

Draco's back stiffened as he was walking towards the exit, but he did not halt. He would let her go on and believe what she wished, for as long as he played his part to perfection (and so did his pseudo self) then he had no reason to worry. She was a harmless girl, he reasoned, who did not know where her allegiance lied. Perhaps she was opposed to the Dark Lord and that first day had been a call for help, a call he had instantly crushed in an attempt to keep under the radar. Now he wasn't so sure he'd done the right thing; from anger comes revenge. He didn't want to know what an angry, mistreated drone was capable of. If she proved herself trustworthy—and he fully intended to find out—then he would reveal his true motives to her, recruiting her to the Light side. It was a dangerous game to play, but he was running out of options; no one trusted the underling Shyam. He was going to have to trust his gut for once, the way he should have trusted it with Hermione.

* * *

_ The sun had set only minutes ago and already the fires were lit and crowded with soldiers. Every night was the same in this war—bonfires surrounded by witches and wizards eager to exchange new, tactics and stories with each other. This camp in particular was enormous, consisting of over 3,000 people, including civilians. Smaller camps were scattered everywhere and they has stayed at nearly all of them: Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny, among others. These camps were the safest places in the world for non-Voldemort supporters, yet still incredibly dangerous. Scouts roamed the surrounding area, reporting regularly to that week's camp leader. Guards also patrolled the boarders; everyone was always on alert._

_ "Hey."_

_ Hermione looked up from her notebook, where she'd been trying to decipher an intercepted letter from the Dark Lord to an unknown recipient. She and few others were skilled enough to do this grueling task._

_ "Hey," she whispered, giving Ron a quick kiss on the cheek._

_ "When are you going to be free for a few minutes?"_

_ Her eyes focused on the symbols on the page in her lap. There was no way she would be able to figure this out tonight._

_ "I'm due for a break," she said, smiling up at him._

_ Taking her hands, he led her from the bonfire she'd chosen to work by and into his tent. Passion consumed them before they could reach the bed. Kissing down her neck, he lowered her onto her back, her body curling up to welcome his advances. They had been together for nearly eight months, only openly with their friends and families for two of those months. Each moment they cherished because although they were together, their duties often separated them. Of the eight months they'd been together, they had only really spent a few scattered days with each other._

_ He always looked into her eyes when he made love to her, as if he were searching for some greater purpose or answer. Her gut reaction was to turn away and moan into a pillow as he pulsed inside her, yet tonight seemed different. Their eyes locked, following each other's gaze to the rhythm of their movements. In that moment Hermione felt a peace she did not know could exist in the world as it now was._

_ "I love you," she burst out, clinging to him, her face buried in his glistening chest._

_ "I love you too," he said, kissing her temple. "I've always loved you."_

_* * *_

_ Darkness. Confusion. Terror._

_ Hermione opened her eyes to screams. Throwing on her clothes, she woke Ron, then hurried outside, leaving him to follow her later. Her vision still hazy with sleep, she couldn't believe that what she saw was real. Fires consumed nearly three quarters of the camp. Witches and wizards ran screaming through the night; Death Eaters cackled, chasing them at a jog, mocking their fear._

_ Reacting instantly, she drew her wand and charged at the first Death Eater she saw. Narcissa Malfoy. Paralyzing her with a binding spell, she didn't see who came at her from the side until it was too late._

_ Darkness. Confusion. Laughter._

_* * *_

_ This time when she opened her eyes it was light out, but she was not in Ron's bed with him lazing at her side. Her wrists and ankles were bound to a pole, which was carried by a group of black-clad Death Eaters, their hoods drawn. They didn't pay any attention to her, walking almost casually through the woods._

_ "She's awake," came a voice from behind her. A chill shot through her spine: Draco Malfoy._

_ "What's that matter?" another asked. "We have her wand."_

_ "She's cleverer than wands and spells. Or need I remind you of former encounters with the mudblood? Watch her carefully."_

_ The Death Eaters groaned, but obeyed, continuing on. Every few moments one or more of them would glance at her, as if they were unsure she was still there, despite the fact that they were carrying her. It was nearly dark by the time they reached what Hermione assumed was their destination. A massive compound bordered by high wooden walls loomed before them. There was no door as far as she could see from her position._

_ "What now?"_

_ "Quiet," Draco ordered. "We're early. Nothing can be done before the sun goes down. Put her over there while we wait for the leader."_

_ Perhaps an hour passed. Hermione didn't say a word. The entire trip she hadn't said a single thing, and yet her heart had been racing, her soul screaming, wondering what they were going to do with her. After what Draco said about the sun, she needn't wonder any longer. Her heartbeat slowed and her brain focused. If she was going to make it out of here alive then she was going to have to think of a plan._

_ All too soon Draco became alert, perking at the sound of footfalls in the distance. Moments later a door appeared in the middle of the wooden wall and out strolled a dozen or more pale-skinned once-human creatures._

_ "What have you brought us this time?" the vampire at the front of the group asked. Hermione assumed this was their leader._

_ "A valuable commodity," Draco replied, gestured towards Hermione, who lay prone on the forest floor, her wrists and ankles still tied to the pole. "Powerful, intelligent, cunning. She will make an excellent asset to your troop and _our _cause. Once you are through with her and she is properly trained, send word and someone will retrieve her."_

_ "And if her struggle should _accidentally_ cause her death?" Hermione scoffed loudly and all eyes turned towards her._

_ "What?" she snapped, anger flooding her entire being. Yes she was scared. Yes she was confused, hurt, embarrassed and worried. But above all she was completely and inconsolably furious. That they should speak of her this way! That she was so _worthless_ to them that they'd sell her off and turn her into their tool! It was inconceivable, and yet she knew it happened all the time, had happened to her dear friend Seamus only days ago._

_ "If she dies," Draco said with a shrug, "then she dies. One less mudblood."_

_ With that said he turned and walked away, his Death Eater entourage following closely behind. It wasn't until he was beyond seeing distance that the vampires approached her. Their movements were slow and fluid, yet she knew what kind of power they possessed, how fast, strong and merciless they could be. In fact, she knew everything about them, had studied them extensively in preparation for the war._

_ As they lifted her up and brought her inside, her heart tore open. No matter the outcome, her and Ron's relationship was over, their love was severed. She allowed herself to cry silently as they carried her into the center of the compound, where an alter of sorts had been constructed decades before. As soon as they set her onto the alter, her tears ceased and her resolve to live quickened. A life without Ron was not a life worth living, and yet every fiber of her being cried for her to protect herself by any means necessary._

_ "Your pain is…intoxicating…" the leader whispered, his face inches from hers. "Welcome to Darkness." He breathed deeply the scent of her, consuming her life-force before he even touched her._

_ "Please," she begged, shrinking away from him. He smiled down at her._

_ "Begging only makes me want you more."_

_ Thrashing beneath him, Hermione fought at him with all the strength she had while bound. When he offered her his blood, she tightened her lips and shook her head. Forcing her lips apart, he dripped the metallic fluid into her mouth; an instant later she latched onto his wrist, drawing from him as much blood as he would allow._

_ "Untie her," he ordered of one of the lesser vampires._

_ Hermione sat up and looked into the eyes of the vampire who had turned her. His face was so pale it was nearly translucent; his skin ageless, ancient._

_ "Welcome, sister," he said, offering her his hand._

_ Hermione smiled, reaching to take his hand. With her other free hand, however, she pull out a dagger she always kept strapped to her side, slicing the vampire's throat open from ear to ear. Crashing to his knees, he clutched his wound, gasping for air. Hermione jumped from the alter, backing herself towards the exit._

_ "Come any closer and I'll slice you all to pieces! It'll take your precious leader some time to heal, more time than I need to get far from here."_

_ "But how—"_

_ "Blood magic," she laughed, her eyes brimming with red tears. Already she could taste the evil in the blood. "Ancient magic. I put up a fight, I put on a show."_

_ "You…" the leader gasped. "You _surrendered_to me?"_

_ "And now I am free. Warn Malfoy and I will finish you all off," she hissed, then turned and fled._

_ She didn't stop running until she reached the safety of a former Light Side camp, which had only been abandoned days before. Crashing to her hands and knees, she tore fistfuls of mud and dirt from the ground, scattering it in her rage and despair._

_ "Ron!" she screamed, pounding the dirt as if it were the cause of her pain. "Oh Merlin, oh Merlin…Merlin…I love you…"_

* * *

There you have it—how Hermione became a vampire!

So, as you all have noticed, I do not update often (though I wish I could). I hope that some people are still reading and enjoying my story. Hopefully I will update again soon.


End file.
